Bohica
by Abandon Structure
Summary: Alternate universe where Alec lead's Seattle's best and brightest through the darkness of Manticore. Companion piece to Toy Soldiers. Follows Alec as he and his struggle to figure out who they are while trying to stay alive.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **BOHICA: Bend Over, Here It Comes Again. Coming up for titles for this series is almost as much fun as writing it. So…I promised (sort of) you the beginnings of the Seattle Saga and here it is, with Chapter Two soon to follow! Enjoy!

**October, 1999**

Shelby Coates knew the second she laid eyes on the tiny little twin boys in the cradles before her.

She could see it in their eyes, their facial features, and their wide-eyed curiosity even at only a few hours old.

The one on the left, 493, had screamed bloody murder coming into the world. His twin, 494, had come quietly, almost resigned-like.

493 slept now, exhausted by his trials of the day, but 494 was watching the world.

"Hey there, little guy," she murmured, standing over the two of them as she readied their evening feeding. Optimized milk with genetically specified vitamins and nutrients designed to not only help them grow, but make them astounding.

Not that they weren't already miracles.

Running a finger down tiny 494's cheek, she smiled when he latched on to it. If she hadn't worked with the X5's in the birth year prior to his, she would have been flabbergasted by the amount of strength in that tiny little grip. As it was, she cooed reassuringly as she deftly maneuvered her finger out of his grasp.

"Strong one, aren't you?" She murmured, gently lifting him and placing the bottle to his lips.

It was frowned upon – but not outlawed – to cuddle with the soldiers as they fed them. Barely a couple hours old and already the staff had been instructed to refer to these tiny new lives as soldiers.

His brother woke then, his eyes snapping open even as he let out a puckered yawn before smacking his lips and moving his drowsy gaze over to the food.

"Hush," Shelby ordered scoldingly as 493 began to grizzle. "You'll get your turn."

But 493, as much as they wanted to call him a solider, was only a baby. He didn't understand the concepts of waiting for your turn, or even hush. He was hungry and he was letting her know the only way he knew how.

"Jordan!" She gave up trying to calm him down as she continued to rock 494, calling over another nurses aid.

"Ma'am?" Jordan was a young girl – barely in her twenties – a transplant from a nearby base. She was truly excellent at her job and one of the few others who couldn't see these children as anything but children.

She wouldn't drop 493 to see if those 'super snazzy genes' could make him 'bounce'.

The aid that had done that had been scolded even as the child he'd dropped had been rushed to medical for surgery.

He'd nearly cost them millions of dollars in damage with that single act. Two weeks later, he'd stopped showing up for work. When one brave soul had asked their shift supervisor what had happened, her reply had been grim and succinct.

"He screwed up," she had told them. "He paid the price for his actions."

Shelby took that to mean he was dead. Strangely, she couldn't bring herself to feel much sympathy.

"He's pretty," Becca Jordan held the tiny little boy and watched, enraptured, as he fed. Her normal duties were limited to blood work-ups and daily check-ups, so this was actually the first time she'd held one of them for feeding.

"They all are," Shelby pointed out, smiling slightly as the younger woman flushed.

"I know. I just – I meant – " she gave up on that sentence and, with a calming breath, started again. "They're special, you know? There's something…different about them. You know what I mean?"

"Yes." There was something different about them. And Shelby knew exactly where it had come from.

Those eyes were familiar eyes. She'd grown up with them.

She'd heard through the grapevine that Manticore medical personnel were a bit puzzled by the two of them. Apparently, though 493's genetics had been split to create a clone, a twin hadn't ever entered the equation.

With all their carefully crafted genetic cocktails, when 493's surrogate had undergone her first ultrasound and that second heartbeat had been found, they had been absolutely flabbergasted. 493 had been implanted at the equivalent of the third week of pregnancy, with no signs of zygote splitting. And then, lo and behold, there came 494.

There'd been debate as to whether or not to terminate the second child, but command was curious and frugal. 494 was an unexpected bonus that they weren't about to waste. So some hasty prenatal genetic alterations were instigated to keep there from being two 493's with identical features walking around, and then everybody sat back to wait.

At only hours old, the twins had already had quite a few interesting visitors, not the least of which was the doctor responsible for their inception.

She didn't know his name, only that he had had kind eyes and he'd stared at 494 for the longest time with what could only be described as a befuddled expression.

Shelby was confused, too, but probably not for the same reason.

It was those damn eyes. There were only two possible places they could have come from, and Shelby certainly hadn't donated any genetic material to this place.

"What happened to their surrogate?" Shelby asked, both curious and dreading the answer.

"I don't know," Becca replied, gently removing the bottle from 493's mouth and maneuvering him upright to be burped. "Why? Did you know her?"

Maybe. Probably.

"I don't know." But staring into those tiny, now drowsy faces, she knew.

Laying 494 down next to 493, she waited until Becca was gone to brush a kiss across both little boys' foreheads.

"Hey there, little men," she whispered softly with a smile. "I'm your Aunt Shelby."

* * *

**April, 2000**

"What's going on?" Sipping her coffee and watching the military personnel as they maneuvered through the nursery, she had the sinking feeling in her gut that she wasn't going to like the answer.

"Selection," Becca replied, her eyes curious as she watched the men move through the room.

"Already?"

"They can walk, some of them are even talking," Lenae Williams inserted herself into their conversation. "In their minds, that means they're ready to begin basic training."

"They're not going to be giving them guns, are they?" Becca sounded so absolutely horrified by the prospect that Shelby almost smiled.

"Not for another year," a voice broke in behind them.

Shelby damn near jumped out of her skin as her fellow nurses shrieked and whirled on the man responsible.

"What the hell, Michael!" Shelby almost wanted to kill him just for that brief scare.

"Heya, Shelbs," Michael's eyes swept the older woman's form head to toe before meeting her gaze with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows. "You're looking good."

"You're an asshole." Michael's grin, if anything, widened at that before he twisted his head to study the group on the other side of the glass.

"Selection, huh?" Shelby grunted her reply, concentrating on getting her heartbeat back into Earth's gravitational orbit as she once more turned to frown at the men.

"Seems like they just keep getting younger and younger." Michael's attempt at humor fell flat as the women continued to watch as their young charges were evaluated and assigned facilities.

"When's the transfer supposed to happen?" Shelby asked, her heartbeat leaping to her throat once more when the blonde haired, blue eyed Colonel they all knew to avoid came to a stop in front of her boys.

493 and 494 had always been hers, as far as she was concerned. They shared her DNA, after all. But the fact of the matter was that she couldn't simply walk away with them. She had no training on evading a top secret black-ops organization and she knew – with hatred and animosity – that they would look at her first if either of those children went missing.

Her heart sank to the vicinity of her toes and she actually felt herself tearing up when the Colonel said something the aid at his side before motioning to the boys.

_Maybe they'll get shipped out together_, Shelby found herself hoping. But her hopes were quickly sunk when the aid said something to 493, who hesitated for only a fraction of a second before marching clumsily to a group of X5's in a corner, leaving 494 standing there by himself.

494's gaze tracked 493's movements quietly but his expression remained closed off. Shelby counted herself lucky to get a smile from the younger brother, whereas 493 always seemed to have one ready.

And he was a talker. 493 loved to talk. His baby English was quick and garbled, but it came out in a steady stream. 494, on the other hand…

She was required to report when they started speaking. 493 had started almost a month ago. 494 only a week ago. He'd barely uttered a word since.

They were both curious little cusses, though. More than once Shelby had entered the nursery to find them huddled up in racks that weren't their own, or even in another room. Privately, she liked to call the two of them Harry and Houdini for their little escapades.

Though young and just developing memory skills, they were attached to one another. And with a simple word, the Colonel had taken those ties and broken them.

"Don't."

Shelby blinked, startled by the harshness of the word emerging from Michael's mouth.

"Don't what?" Michael gazed at her steadily.

"Don't do whatever it is that you're thinking of doing. It's not worth it."

Shelby was pissed now.

"Who the hell are you to tell me that it's not worth it?"

"A friend, a colleague, a man who's been there before. And I'm telling you now: whatever you're considering doing, think about this first: what good are you to them if you're dead? Because if you try anything, they will kill you."

It wasn't anything Shelby hadn't already considered, but having the proverbial elephant in the room spoken to her out loud had the blood draining from her face.

"What am I supposed to do?" She asked finally through numb lips.

"Protect them," Michael replied, grim faced as the Colonel came to the end of this nursery and moved on to the next.

"How? I can't be in two places at once."

"So don't be. Pick somebody you trust, ask them to transfer."

"You've done this before?" Michael's gaze drifted to the wall behind her head.

"Once."

"Who?"

"A friend. You're better off not knowing names."

She was better off not knowing anything. Knowledge could either kill your or set you free, and in this place, there was always more than one way to die and more than one thing to kill.

She didn't want to leave either of them, but she was especially loath about leaving 494. With his quiet manner and wandering gaze he was more likely to be assumed defective than his energetic older brother.

"I'll stay here," she decided with a nod, her gaze wandering the room as she searched for a sympathetic soul.

Her gaze landed on Becca, who was watching 493 with sad eyes and a glum expression, and she felt something almost like relief.

She had a solution. But oh, how she wished she could just do away with the problem.

Michael watched Shelby move to the pretty brunette nurse and speak in hushed tones for a moment before turning his attention to the small cluster of soldiers that had been assigned to this facility.

They were tiny, some of them standing on still wobbly legs. They barely understood the world around them and Command already wanted him to start teaching them more.

"Biggs!"

"Sir!" Snapping to attention, Biggs tracked his CO in his peripherals as Rear Admiral Jefferson Shepherd made his way over, his chief aide Amon Brooke right behind him.

Nobody liked Amon. He had bug eyes, a big nose, and a marked superiority complex.

Bat-shit insane was a good way to describe the base Director. Whereas Colonel Lydecker from Gillette was a cold-hearted son of a bitch, Jefferson Shepherd was a straight-up sociopath.

He saw himself as a God and everybody on base knew better than to treat him as anything less, at least in his presence.

"Escort our newest members to their barracks and get them set up. Their first class starts tomorrow at 0800. See to it that they're there on time."

"Yes, Sir." Biggs didn't move a muscle after that as he waited for Shepherd to dismiss him.

The first week he'd been assigned to the base, he'd seen one of the Trainer's he'd come in with get shot, point blank, for relaxing before Shepherd had finished saying at-ease.

"You're dismissed."

Just like that, Shepherd lost interest in him as he wandered over to where Doctor Blaise was studying her newest collection with a frown.

_Goddamn sociopaths and goddamn civilians._ Blaise saw the young soldiers and scientific marvels and economic possibilities, but as people? Never. That would require emotions, and the red-headed bitch didn't seem to have any.

Moving at a brisk walk to take charge of his newest charges, Biggs wished, for the umpteenth time, that he had stayed home instead of joining the army.

Meeting people and going places was goddamn overrated.

* * *

"Lights off is at 2300," the Trainer was instruction from the front of the room. "You will report to your racks and remain there until lights on at 0530 hours. If you have to use the head during that time, you will report of the watch officer before leaving. You will have five minutes to conduct your personal business before you will return to your barracks, report to your watch officer, and return to your rack. Are there any questions?"

494 did nothing; he didn't move, he didn't blink – he barely even breathed as the Trainer paced in front of them.

Eighteen X5's occupied the room, the beginnings of Squad 6. Their CO, X5-764, stood at the front of the line, his back straight and chest puffed out.

He acted like he was important – 494 had no other way to describe his behavior.

And maybe he was. For the last six months they'd been teaching them obedience to the chain of command – outside of the Trainers and Manticore Brass, 764 was highest in theirs.

"You're in charge, 764," the Trainer reminded the young X5 one last time before leaving the room.

They stood in their lines for several long moments, eighteen very confused and scared kids until 764 took charge.

"Into your racks, soldiers," he ordered. 494 instinctively moved to obey, climbing silently into his new bed. Resting his head on his pillow, he tried in vain to go to sleep and failed miserably.

There was just too much going on right now – he missed his brother, he missed the steady breaths of his familiar nursery group.

There were two of them here now – 501, a male, and 202, a female. They hardly made up from the loss of 493, but focusing in their familiar breathing patterns helped calm him.

Drowsy eyed, he blinked his eyes open to find 501 staring at him from the bunk next to his. Offering the other X5 a tired smile, he relaxed further when that smile was returned.

Watching 501 close his eyes, 494 felt extreme relief.

At least he wasn't alone.

* * *

**June, 2000**

Biggs stared at the lizard kid. The lizard kid stared back.

"Doesn't that itch?" Biggs finally broke the silence, motioning with his free hand to the wool blanket the boy – at least, he thought it was a boy – had wrapped around him.

"Yes," the kid replied grimly.

"Then why are you wearing it?"

"It's too cold in here," was his logical response.

"Oh. That makes sense." It was seventy-five degrees, perfectly comfortable for Biggs, but not for the kid. He was a conglomeration of human and a variety of lizard, which made him a unique mixture of reptile and mammal. He had a base temperature higher than most of his cold-blooded animal brethren, but he also required higher outside temperatures to remain comfortable and functioning.

"So what would be comfortable for you? Eighty? Eighty-five? Ninety?"

The kid gave him a suspicious look, on that all but screamed 'you're shitting me, right?' but Biggs wasn't. Shitting him, that was. He genuinely wanted the kid to be comfortable.

It would be a great start to their working relationship if he was.

"Eight-five would be fine," the kid finally stated, wrapping the blanket tighter around himself before wincing as the material scratched at his skin.

"Right. I'll get right on that." Turning to go, Biggs hesitated a moment before glancing over his shoulder.

"You got a name, kid?"

The lizard boy smirked at him.

"Shouldn't you be asking for my designation, Sir?" There was a sardonic way to how he said those words that had Biggs almost grinning at the barely disguised 'fuck you'.

"Sure. What's your designation, kid?"

"DAC-0251," he replied, turning to head back into his habitat before hesitating and turning to glance over _his _shoulder. "But you can call me Mole."

"Mole?" The kid smirked at Biggs' obvious confusion but offered no explanation as he slipped silently back into his sandy sanctuary.

"Right. Mole it is." Shaking his head and lifting a hand to hide his grin, Biggs set about getting the temperature raised for his newest charges.

The X5 training had been his right up until the moment he had dared to question one of Shepherd's fucked up training protocols. The only reason he wasn't six feet under was his record and his former CO. Major Jacobs had somehow managed to convince Shepherd that sending Biggs down to the sub-basement to work with the Special Projects was a fate worse than death and that a demotion would be an even greater punishment.

Having just had the most interesting conversation he'd ever had in months with a five foot something and still growing lizard kid who, according to his file, was only about ten years old, Biggs could safely say that this was probably going to be the highlight of his career.

If nothing else, he was going to have a good time with Mole. They were gonna be best buddies before he knew what hit him.

* * *

**August, 2001**

"You're an asshole."

"Good morning to you, too, Sandy."

"My name's not Sandy, it's San**-**_dra_."

"Yes, but Sandy's considered an acceptable nickname for Sandra."

Mole watched with a grin as his eldest female stopped her foot in the sand before whirling around to walk away and steam…literally.

"I'm starting to cook over, here, Biggs," Malcolm, his SIC, complained, running a rough hand over the ridges on the side of his head.

"It's the hottest desert in the world," Biggs commented dryly. "I thought this would be like paradise to my cold-blooded brethren."

"Different DNA samples, different temperature preferences and survival capabilities," TD, a young and most outgoing male, commented, picking something up off the ground and giving it a cursory once over before eating it.

Biggs bit his lip to keep from laughing at the face he pulled.

Over in the corner, Click said something and Biggs automatically looked to Mole to translate.

"He says he's comfortable," was the drawled reply.

Click was…unique. Ish.

Biggs had found Click in the real basement with what command liked to refer to as the 'Anomalies' which had been universally shortened to Nomalies by almost everybody else.

He was there both for his appearance and his unique speech patterns.

His vocal cords didn't allow for the formation of words, though five minutes of interaction with him had assured Biggs his comprehension of English was good enough. Instead of words, he communicated through clicks and a sort of high pitched squealing sound.

Sadly, it hadn't taken much for Biggs to get the kid out of the dirty cell he'd been shoved in. Truth was, nobody gave much by way of a damn about the nomalies.

Reassigning him to the DAC's had taken some finesse. Shepherd was still pissed at him for his apparent disrespect of the previous year, after all. So instead of making a forthright request, he'd maneuvered so that it seemed like he _didn't _want Click reassigned.

So, naturally, he'd gotten the exact opposite.

The reassignment had both pleased and worried Biggs. Pleased, because Click had family now, and worried him because if Shepherd was truly that easy to manipulate…they were in trouble. Big trouble.

"Alrighty, then," Biggs addressed the men around him. The DAC's were only about nine in number, ten if you included Click. Manticore, upon reaching a quota of about forty for the entire lot, had split them into four teams, sending two of them to the desert paradise of the Las Vegas facility, one to their Atlanta Facility, and keeping one in Seattle.

"Your mission, should you chose to accept it –"

"Wait, we have the option of refusing?" Heron blinked innocently as Biggs shot him a dirty look.

"You were kind of ambiguous," Mole pointed out with faux innocence. Biggs was really, _really _starting to like the kid.

"It's a turn of phrase," Biggs sulked, mostly for show.

"Alright, as I was saying, your mission is simple: capture…the flag," holding up the strip of bright blue material, he waved it with the wind for a few moments before grinning widely and handing it off to one of the junior trainers who'd been unlucky enough to pull this detail.

Sergeant Troy Eckhart had stared with wide-eyed surprise the first day he'd been assigned to work with the DAC's.

"They're so…big," had been his first words. It was true, too. The DAC's seemed to physically mature faster than their more human counterparts. Mole, their leader and the biggest amongst the lot, was already over six feet tall and he was only eleven.

"And you're so small," had been Mole's sardonic rejoinder, causing Eckhart to let out a very unmanly eep and just barely managing to keep his feet on the ground.

"They talk?"

"Yes," Sandy had hissed in reply, her slightly forked tongue making her sound unbelievable snake-like when she felt like it. Normally she worked very carefully to speak bland English, but she also hated to be mocked for her natural born skin. Eckhart had inadvertently insulted her with his simple words.

"They walk and talk. They even sing, if you ask politely." TD sang, at least. That's how he'd gotten his name. The poor kid was completely horrible. Enthusiastic, but tone deaf.

It'd taken two weeks for Eckhart to get over his initial bought of nervousness, but the DAC's weren't letting him forget the fact that they were bigger and stronger. They'd taken a shine to Biggs, especially when he'd refused to call them by their designations and only used their names, but Eckhart had to work for it.

He was doing an okay job, too. He was polite, he brought them apples, and he didn't jump whenever they did something weird and inherently lizard like.

Click, for example, happened to have a tongue he could extend like a whip to catch flies for his dinner.

The first time Biggs had seen him demonstrate that odd little skill had been one of the weirdest moments of his life.

They'd been working on basic rifle drills out at the range when Click had said something to Mole.

"What'd he say?" Biggs had asked, head down as he worked to overcome a jam in one of the M16's.

"He said he wants to eat you." That had been alarming. Mole had said the words with a puzzled air, his attention flicking between the two of them as Biggs jerked his head upright to stare.

"Say what?" Mole opened his mouth to repeat his previous words, but Click broke in with a frantic series of chattering notes that only made Biggs more confused, but seemed to answer Mole's question.

"Ah, sorry. I mistranslated. He wants to eat the bug in your hair."

"I have a bug in my hair?" Since he was no longer in charge of a bunch of impressionable young supersoldiers, Biggs had let his hair grow into a dark unruly mass on the top of his head. His main reasoning, as justified to Major Jacobs, had been the simple fact that he couldn't impress his grooming standards upon his new men: none of them had hair.

"Yeah," Mole had replied. "A pretty big one, too."

Biggs normally prided himself on his flippant, but effective, way of dealing with situations. Having a bug in his hair, though…

"Sure, yeah. Great. Go right ahead." It sounded a bit weird, even in Biggs' head, but he had a real hate-hate relationship going on with Mother Nature. With his luck, the bug was probably poisonous.

_Just please don't be a spider_, he prayed silently as Click stepped forward and stopped.

And then Click's tongue had whipped out, smacking him so lightly on the head he barely felt it, before drawing back into his mouth so fast that, if he had blinked, Biggs would have missed it.

"I'll be damned," Mole had blinked in surprise as Biggs had stood there, completely godsmacked. "Click, my man, I had no idea you could do that."

The DAC's had crowded around him, cooing and generally in awe of Click's lightning fast tongue, while Biggs had continued to stand there. Godsmacked.

He'd gotten used to it since. Even come to see it as a beneficial tool. He'd been testing Click to see the weight limitation of his appendage and had been pleasantly surprised to discover that, if separated from his weapons, Click could use his tongue to retrieve a Glock 9mm, and move an M16 within grasping range.

It was…pretty damn cool, actually.

"So," Biggs clapped his hands together as Eckhart disappeared over some dunes, the faint cough of a dune buggy echoing in the small clearing before the vehicle roared to life and Eckhart took off into the desert.

"What's happenin', Captain?" Mole asked.

DAC's, much to Biggs surprise and delight, were gossips.

Which was great, because Biggs loved to talk.

* * *

**October, 2002**

"What's going on?" Biggs blew on his coffee to cool it off as he watched the young soldiers on the tarmac maneuver.

"Selection," grim-face Staff Sergeant Jeffrey 'JJ' Jones, stated, wincing as one of the young soldiers tripped over her own feet and went tumbling to the ground, taking half the squad with her.

"Shit, man, I hope like hell I don't get assigned to that squad. They're a fucking mess."

"Which squad is it?" Biggs squinted at the squad members, trying to discern who was who. He had a vague familiarity with the X5 squads through his early work and scuttlebutt.

"Six," JJ replied, grimacing as one of the new kids turned the wrong way. Gleeson, the Trainer in charge of basic drills, jumped on the mistake so fast, the kid's face actually drained of blood, his eyes widening in stark terror.

"Jesus," Biggs breathed, disgusted with the whole state of affairs as, instead of correcting the error, Gleeson jerked his head towards the guards who unceremoniously hauled the young boy away.

"How are the freaks?" JJ asked, in such an off-hand manner Biggs knew he was asking to ask, not to mock Biggs for his position like some of their colleagues.

"Great. 0765 beat her record on the obstacle course."

"No shit?" JJ arched an eyebrow, impressed. 0765, or Callie as she preferred to be called, was the youngest female of the group. Her best time on the course had been around eighteen minute. The X4's, who used the same course, had an average time of just under fifteen minutes.

Considering when the DAC's had first come into being, Manticore had designed them mostly with the desert environment in mind. They were sturdy and durable, but not as quick or agile as their X-series counterparts.

Callie was blowing that idea out of the water by steadily shaving off a few seconds every week on the course. Pretty soon she'd been breezing past the X4's times.

"Watch your back, Biggs," JJ warned, tucking his hands into his pocket as he turned back towards the building. "As soon as Manticore realizes those DAC's are valuable, Shepherds going to reassign your ass."

"I'll deal," Biggs replied, focus still on Squad 6, his eyes searching for a familiar little boy.

"Pretty hard to deal if you're dead," JJ muttered quietly, but the wind carried his voice over.

Biggs didn't have much of a response to that. Truth was, he was walking on thin ice. He'd managed to sneak the DAC's out for real world training a couple of times without Shepherd realizing, but it wasn't going to slide for much longer.

He only hoped he trained those kids enough for them to withstand whatever was coming.

**A/N: **I had thirty-two pages of the first chapter started and it wasn't even done yet, so I decided to shorten it a bit so I could post it. Like it? Love it? Absolutely hate it and wish I was dead for writing it? Tell me!

Review!


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **This is the chapter that wouldn't die. I'm serious; every time I wanted to wind it down, my brain would go '_Oooh! Ohhh! Perfect plot opportunity, right _**here**_!'_ I wasn't even sure I'd get it done, it was that freakin' long. I actually had to take bathroom and food breaks.

Here it is, though. Chapter 2 of Bohica. Like it? Hate it? Think it's ridiculously long? Drop me a line and **review!**

**May, 2003**

"You're late."

Biggs blinked, bleary eyed, up at Patrick Swanson from his sprawled out position on the cot of his cell.

"Huh?" Was the only logical thought he could come up with.

"Your new assignment. You're late. Get dressed."

"New assignment?" Biggs blinked again, sincerely confused. "What was the old one?"

"Basic training in the yards. You oversaw the drills. Don't you remember?"

"Not really, no." His head felt like it was full of cotton and his mouth…

"Dude, how long have I been here?" He peered around him. "And where the hell is here?"

"One of the empty cells in the north wing," Swanson replied, peering down at Biggs with no small amount of concern. "We dragged your sorry ass here after you passed out drunk last night."

"I was drunk?" His head and mouth did faintly resemble the after effects of a hangover, but…usually he remembered drinking.

"As a skunk. We were celebrating your promotion. You seriously don't remember?"

"No. Sorry. Empty head," Biggs gave Swanson a wry smile as he climbed to his feet and nearly fell over.

"Geezus," Swanson caught him before he could kiss the concrete floor, grunting under the sudden influx of wait.

"Jesus," Biggs echoed on a groan, reaching up with the hand that wasn't holding Swanson's shirt in a death grip. "My head."

Lying down had been bad enough, with the disorienting cotton, but standing up on legs of jelly had started off a horrible clanging that had his stomach threatening revolt.

"Whoa there, buddy," Swanson maneuvered him back onto his cot and shook his head with his own wry smile. "You're not going anywhere today. Not with that hangover. I'll radio command, tell them you're taking a sick day."

"We get sick days?"

_Awfully nice of them_.

The whole thought struck Biggs as inherently wrong, but for the life of him he couldn't figure out why.

After all, Manticore had given him a job when he needed one.

Right?

"Take a nap, buddy. I'll check on you in the morning."

"Yeah, sure. Whatever."

Thinking hurt, so he was just gonna sleep…

* * *

**June, 2004**

"How you holding up?" Shelby grunted her reply as she tapped her fingers on her desk and tilted her head back to look up at Biggs.

"You ever had one of those days where you feel like something invisible is breathing down your neck?"

Biggs laughed out that, but it was without humor.

"Every damn day, Shelbs. Every damn day."

"That's what I was afraid of."

"So how's our boy doing?" Biggs asked, sliding into a seat across from Shelby and kicking his heels up on her desk.

"I thought evaluations were your department." Biggs pulled a face at that.

"Group evaluations. I don't do individuals. And as far as group standings go, Squad 6 is pretty damn low on the totem pole."

It was their damn CO. 764 was a good soldier, but good soldier didn't necessarily equate to good leader.

The kid got by through sheer grit and luck. The grit was all his, but lately Biggs had been getting the feeling that the luck was less luck and more direct intervention from above.

"He's incompetent as a leader," Biggs had complained to JJ earlier that week.

"So file a complaint," had been JJ's helpful contribution around a mouthful of eggs and toast.

"I wouldn't." Major Jacobs hadn't spoken loudly, but his words carried.

"What? Sir, if he's not doing his job, then he should be removed from his position," JJ had sputtered, shocked that their supervisor would even consider letting Squad 6's CO's incompetency fly.

"764 is Shepherd's pride and joy. You tell him that his chosen one is inept and you'll end up retired real quick."

"So you're going to let 764 risk the lives of thirty-one other kids because you're too cowardly to do the right thing?"

"JJ," Biggs spoke, drawing the hot-heads attention to him. "Let it go."

"Fuck this," JJ tossed his napkin onto his tray and climbed to his feet, shaking his head and muttering to himself as he stormed away.

Biggs watched him go for a moment before turning his attention back to Jacobs.

"You have a plan, Sir?" Biggs knew the Major, and Jacobs wouldn't have warned him off of 764 unless he already had something in works to fix the problem.

"Working on, Staff Sergeant. Though I would suggest you give the best glowing recommendation possible for that train wreck in the making on your next report."

"What do I look like, the miracle man?" Jacobs had given him another of those grim smiles before walking away.

Biggs was trying, too. He'd been positively cordial in his last two reports about their group performance.

He couldn't, however, alter their performance scores. They spoke for themselves.

"494's fine," Shelby stated, tapping the folder on her desk for emphasis. "Health, intelligence, and fitness are all within normal ranges."

"Normal ranges?"

"Acceptable performance levels," Shelby elaborated with a wry smile. "As seen by command."

"But…" Biggs had known Shelby for close to five years now, and never once had she gotten away with hiding something from him.

"He's holding back. He can do better. I _know _he can do better."

"And you're wondering if Command shares the thought." Manticore Brass took a very negative view on soldiers failing to perform at peak proficiency.

"Maybe. I don't know." She didn't even try to mask her fear at the thought.

"We'll fix this, Shelbs. I promise you. We'll fix this."

"He's just a little boy," Shelby bit her lip as she choked back her sob and peered up and Biggs through tear-filled eyes. "He shouldn't have to worry about things like that. His life should be baseball in the park and movies on Saturdays, not training and punishments."

"I know." It was a piss poor response, but it was the only one Biggs could come up with. He knew it was wrong, felt it to the bottom of his soul, but he was stuck between the rock and the grave. And he was doing his damn best to keep from getting smothered by either.

He just wished that his survival could make the world a better place for these kids.

"Just do what we talked about," Biggs let his feet drop the floor and he reached across and clasped Shelby's hands in his own.

"They killed my sister, Michael. They killed my _baby sister._" Sheila had been nine minutes younger than her. Nine minutes, but it was enough for Shelby to assume the mantle of older sister. Protector, guardian, confidante, and friend.

Until Sheila had met her douche of an ex-husband who'd gotten her hooked on drugs. They'd lost touch, but seven years ago Sheila had contacted her, clean and sober.

They'd made plans to meet, plans Shelby had been eager to share with her colleagues only…

Sheila never showed. Nobody knew where she was, or even where she'd been. It was like she'd dropped off the face of the earth.

_She may as well have._

Ever since she'd looked into the eyes of those little boys and knew, _knew_ who their mother was, she'd been left to wonder…

Sheila had been missing for two and a half years before those little boys came along, which was plenty enough time for Manticore to squeeze in at least two more births.

Waste not, want not. In her investigations into her sister's disappearance and subsequent reappearance inside these walls, she'd discovered a few things she could end up dying for if Command ever found out she knew.

She'd discovered that a lot of the women recruited to be surrogates weren't volunteers. She'd discovered an alarmingly high rate of death among those who's progeny either failed to achieve anything more than mediocrity or failed to achieve anything at all.

The lucky ones were the ones who got shipped off to the psychiatric facilities, but Shelby wasn't delusional enough to believe that was a good thing. Their names were changed, their minds chemical altered, and their lives completely destroyed.

Of the alarmingly large number of surrogates recruited, only a small portion were actual volunteers. And the majority of them had been recruited from foreign locales, given the promise a new life in America in exchange for a child.

For a lot them, originating from third world countries, it wasn't too much to ask.

It made her sick to her stomach.

"They'll pay for that, too," Biggs promised her, slipping around her desk to wrap her in his arms, holding her tightly as she sobbed out her pain. "I promise you."

Strangely, that made her feel better. Because in all the years she'd known Staff Sergeant Michael Biggs, he had never once broken a promise he made to her.

Biggs left only when he was positive Shelby had pulled herself together.

Which was great, cause he was losing it.

* * *

"How is she?" Staff Sergeant Patrick Swanson was a good man, one of the few Biggs could talk freely with.

"She'll make it. She's strong, tough. Like her sister was."

Swanson nodded, but kept his peace on the subject. Biggs felt foolish for the words even as they left his mouth.

If anybody knew how strong Sheila Coates had been, it would be Swanson.

They were going to get married. Sheila wanted kids, real kids of her very own, and Swanson wanted to give them to her.

Personally, Biggs thought he'd been delusional at the time. Once Manticore got its claws into you, it never let go, not until you were either used beyond repair, or completely deceased.

Whatever delusions Swanson had had about the place had long since been disabused.

He'd tried to get her out, before they'd killed her, but he hadn't gotten to her in time.

He'd buried her, though. Found a nice plot with sun in the morning and shade from a tree in the afternoon.

He'd brought Shelby there, but he'd never stayed to visit.

He threw himself into his work, justifying his decisions with the thought that Sheila would have wanted him to move on with his life, with his career.

He'd lived in his circle of delusions for eighteen long months before that night.

He'd been given his story, actually rehearsing it without fully comprehending it's purpose.

Biggs had been promoted, and they'd been out celebrating. Biggs had drunk too much and passed out in an empty cell in the north section.

Swanson could still repeat the script even now.

The alarming thing was neither of them could remember anything that had happened before then.

"Psy-Ops," Swanson had reported to him with grim faced disgust. "You got the full treatment and I just got the whammy."

"And the rest of the base? Why is it that nobody can remember what I did prior to two weeks ago?"

"Drugs in the water?" Swanson had hazarded with a tired sigh before running his hand through his hair. "Fuck if I know, Biggs. All I know, is that you did something that pissed Shepherd off. Not even the Major knows what, and that's saying something."

"Does the Major know what happened to me?"

Basic deduction had given him a time frame in which to operate. That, and talking to Shelby, who'd told him that first day back that he'd been missing, or shipped out for extra training, for at least a month.

That was a month of his life that was out and out missing, and at least a couple of years that were so fuzzy he could barely remember the basics, let alone retrieve any details about them.

It made him wonder…what had he done that pissed Shepherd off so much?

Though, in truth, Shepherd had never liked him. In all the alterations to his memory Shepherd had had someone make, he hadn't thought to change the knowledge of that basic fact. That he had tried to included warm fuzzies about Manticore almost made Biggs laugh now.

He had never, not once, since the first day he'd stepped foot on the grounds and realized what they wanted him to do, had anything that even vaguely resembled warm feelings towards the program. The projects, he liked. The methods and the brass?

"I don't think so, but who knows? Jacobs keeps his own council on these things."

"Yeah, he's a lot smarter than the rest of us."

And he was planning something, or waiting for something, because he'd gotten downright frosty the last couple of weeks.

"Things are changing, Biggs. You feel it, right?"

"Yeah, I feel it." He just hoped those changes were for the better.

* * *

**January, 2005**

Biggs was in a classroom doing an eval on Squad 6 when the locking mechanism for the door clanged into place without so much as a warning.

"The fuck?" Biggs muttered quietly to himself, frowning in puzzlement at the door. Some of the X5's near the back had turned, eyeing the door with curiosity and a little bit of fear, but their instructor remained oblivious.

_Civilians,_ Biggs thought with a grunt. Oh, he had nothing against them, as long as they stayed the hell away from military matters. No training usually equated to no common sense, especially amongst the elite crop of boneheads Manticore recruited to teach their science experiments.

He was the only senior Trainer in the room. His subordinate, Sergeant Gales, had heard the door clang shut, but unlike Biggs, he didn't seem the least bit surprised.

"What the hell is going on, soldier?" Biggs asked, his voice quiet but forceful as he rounded in on the older man.

"Revolution," was Gales reply before, in a move so smooth Biggs never saw it coming, he slammed his taser into Biggs' gut and flicked it on.

_Sonofabitch, _was Biggs last thought before everything went dark.

* * *

Shelby had been doing a blood work-up on one of the Special Ops soldiers when guards had come pouring into the room, weapons at the ready.

"What the hell?" Her shift supervisor climbed to her feet, expression livid as she rounded in on the nearest guard.

"You're not authorized to breach this sector without my expressed permission!" She snapped, coming to a stop in front of the nearest guard, completely ignoring the gun pressed against her chest.

She never saw it coming; none of them did. One second she was yelling, the next, she was on the ground, dead, her chest nothing but raw meat.

Screaming erupted then, high pitched wailing that made Shelby want to cover her ears, but she was too busy gaping in horror.

"Son of a bitch," the DAC she'd been looking over murmured, blinking his red eyes in out and out surprise. "Biggs was right."

That caught Shelby's attention.

"Biggs? You know Biggs?"

"Hell yeah," the DAC replied, staring at her in out and out surprise. "He was only my Trainer for three years."

"You?" Shelby blinked in surprise at the scaly faced Transhuman. "You were where he was for the past three years?"

"Me and my squad, and why do you look so surprised? He told us he got flack from the upstairs people every damn day for it."

"He did?" the DAC was frowning now, his attention expertly divided between the guards, who had made quick work of getting the rest of the room to shut up, and Shelby, who's reactions to his words told him a lot.

"What happened to Biggs?" Shelby stared at the lizard man for a few seconds longer as the guards spread throughout the room, a couple coming close enough to sneer at the DAC before beating a hasty retreat as he sneered back.

"He got reassigned, two years ago. But he can't remember from where. Nobody can."

"Psy-Ops?" the DAC's eyes got real wide at that thought. "They used Psy-Ops on him?"

"On everybody, apparently. Either that, or they threatened them, because Biggs hasn't been able to find any information about his previous assignment. Anywhere."

"Quiet!" One of the guards snapped harshly, raising his gun slightly to level it at Shelby's chest. The DAC hissed in response, moving far more rapidly than one thought possible to insert his body between Shelby and the gunman.

He must have been new, or easily excitable. Or maybe he just hated the transhumans, because he pulled the trigger.

"No!" Shelby yelled, grunting under the weight of the injured transhuman as she darted forward to catch him. "You bastard!"

"Shut up," was the sneered reply as the guard lowered his weapon and watched the transhuman bleed.

"I need a first aid kit," Shelby snapped in reply, hands already moving over the wound. It was a through and through, high enough in the shoulder to have caused only basic damage, but it had to hurt like hell.

"Why bother?" The guard spit on the ground. "Fucking animal doesn't deserve to live."

"Who died and made you god?"

"This," the guard hefted his M16 with a toothy grin and dead eyes.

"Yeah, well, your boss isn't going to like you shooting one of their top money makers, so unless you want to be the next person getting a bullet put in them, I suggest you get me a fucking first aid kit."

Shelby had no idea who the guys boss was, or even anything about the financial income of the DAC's, but something she said struck a chord in the guard and less than a minute later, she had a first aid kit and an extremely grateful transhuman.

"I'm Mole," the transhuman introduced himself with a wince.

"Shelby," Shelby replied. "Shelby Coates."

"I figured," Mole replied with a wry smile, causing Shelby to do a double take.

"Biggs," Mole stated by way of explanation. "He told us the prettiest nurse topside was a woman with red hair and a temper."

"A temper, huh?" Shelby grinned faintly as she deftly wrapped his wound. "Next time I see Biggs, we're going to have words."

The transhuman chuckled faintly at that.

"Can I watch?"

* * *

He had that faint ringing in his ears and surreal feeling that always came with being on the receiving end of a high-voltage electrical shock.

"Motherfucker," Biggs breathed, coming to awareness in painful increments.

First thing he was aware of was the hard surface under his body. A quick inhalation confirmed his initial theory; concrete.

Opening his eyes and squinting against the harsh overhead light, the first thing he saw was the familiar face of Swanson.

"You're awake," was Swanson's masterful statement of the obvious when Biggs managed to open his eyes and keep them open.

"No shit. What the fuck is going on?"

"Didn't you hear?" JJ sassed from somewhere behind him. "It's a revolution, Biggs baby. And we're not invited."

"Revolution? By who? And for what?" His thought process was fuzzy, but he was fairly certain that if he was in here, whoever was out there was not on his side.

"My money's on Shepherd," Lieutenant Henry Jade ground out, his voice full of pain.

"What the hell, man?" Biggs stared at the bloody mess that was Jade's leg with open horror.

"Gibson," Jade grunted his reply to Biggs' unspoken question. "Dumb fuck thought he could take me."

"He got you here, didn't he?" JJ was obviously riding the bitter train, thunking his head back against the wall with a monumental scowl.

"No, he didn't." They took a moment to absorb the ramifications of that statement.

"So, I guess I should count myself lucky, then," Biggs murmured, levying himself upright with a grunt.

"Yeah, real lucky man. I think you pissed yourself on the way down."

"Fuck you, JJ. Like hell I did." Scowling at the other man, Biggs turned his attention to their surroundings.

"Does anybody know what wing we're in?"

"Psy-Ops," Jade replied grimly.

"Well, shit."

* * *

Revolution.

494 cocked his head to the side as he read the dictionary, intrigued by the idea of the word.

Revolution (noun) - a radical and pervasive change in society and the social structure, esp. one made suddenly and often accompanied by violence.

494 understood violence. At six years of age, he knew how to kill a man without making a sound, how to render someone unconscious in one move, and how to shoot a gun at a hundred yards and hit what he was aiming at dead-on.

He didn't understand, however, why Trainer Gales had used his taser on Trainer Biggs.

He didn't completely comprehend why Gales had told Biggs there was a revolution, but he was beginning to get an idea.

Two hours earlier, shortly after Gales had hauled Biggs' unconscious form away, Squad 6 had been marched out to the main tarmac along with the rest of the squads, where they'd received, by far, their most interesting briefing to date.

"As of 1530 hundred hours today, this facility has been repatriated from the United States government and now operates solely by my jurisdiction," Director Shepherd had informed them from the front of the tarmac.

"Anybody protesting this change of command will be shot." As if to demonstrate, the struggling figure of one of their trainers was brought forth.

494 didn't flinch as the gunshot echoed through the clearing, but his stomach did clench as the putrid stench of voided bowels reached his delicate nose.

Down the line, 036, a female who occupied the rack next to his, broke rank, ever so slightly, to press a hand against her mouth and fight back her own wave of nausea.

Next to her, 202 hastily yanked the other girls hand down, the two of them snapping to attention as a Trainer paced the line in front of them.

They'd been returned to their barracks in short order, but not until after Shepherd had informed them of a few rule changes.

The first was failures wouldn't be tolerated. If you screwed up, you would be shot. Another demonstration had followed, with an X5 from Squad 1 taking a bullet to the leg for his failure to achieve the minimal time on the obstacle course the day before.

Three other X5's from different squads had been shot as well for a variety of offenses. And, instead of help, they had been ordered to make their way to the infirmary by themselves.

494 had never been shot before, but he had broken his leg the year before. He'd barely been able to stand, let alone walk. He couldn't fathom how the X5 from Squad 1 had managed to get to his feet and stumble to the main doors.

The second had been a listing of additional training they were going to be undertaking.

Interrogation Training, which didn't sound all that different from what they had been doing before, only, instead of being tortured, they were going to be the ones doing the torturing. To each other.

"Think of it as a character building exercise," Shepherd had informed them with a wry smile.

Extortion, murder, and terrorism.

Biggs had always told them they were supposed to be the good guys, but Shepherd was telling them the exact opposite.

"You were designed to be the perfect killers," he had lectured, his voice booming through the wide space. "But your training has been lacking so far. You will learn how to kill with ruthless force and you will learn how to do it well."

"I don't want to be a killer," 036 was still pale, still shaky, but better than before.

"Me neither," her closest companion, 295, stated. Normally very mellow and full of humor, 295 hadn't so much as cracked a smile since Biggs had hit the floor.

"They hurt Staff Sergeant Biggs," 501 stated, his expression stricken. "Why would they do that?"

"Maybe he wasn't one of them," 202 stated, expression thoughtful.

"He's a Trainer," 295 pointed out, confused. "He has to be one of them. Right?"

"Maybe." 494 spoke, his head turned towards the door as he frowned, deep in thought.

"What's that supposed to mean?" 678 asked. The youngest of the squad, she was huddled into 036's side as the five of them talked.

494 said nothing, slipping silently from his rack instead. The room went silent for a moment, all eyes tracking him, but 494 kept his focus on the door.

"What are you doing, soldier?" 764 snapped, getting to his own feet with a thunderous scowl.

"There's nobody outside the door," 494 stated by way of reply.

"What relevancy is that?"

"There's always somebody outside the door," 253 moved from his rack to place his ear next to 494's.

The SIC of their squad, 253 was quiet and kept to himself. An introvert, he didn't seem to care much for his authoritative position and it showed. Easily tolerable, 494 would be hard pressed to say that he liked his squadmate, but he had faith in his abilities.

"You're right," 253, stoic-mannered in all things, actually managed to sound surprised.

"Where did the guards go?" 202 slipped from her rack to pad over, the rest of the squad exchanging looks as 764's jaw clenched.

"Don't know," 253 answered her question with a faint frown.

"Is it important?" 501 kept his gaze on 494.

"No," 764 snapped, grabbing 501 by his arm and jerking him back and away from the door with such force the smaller transgenic went tumbling to the ground.

"Hey!" 202 snarled as she inserted her slightly larger form between 501 and 764.

"This is my squad, soldier," 764 snapped in reply, raising a fist to her. "You follow my orders, not 494's."

"He hasn't given us any orders," 295 pointed out with just the barest hints of anger as he came to stand on 202's right side, 036 moving onto her left.

"Shh!" 494 hissed, his ear still firmly pressed against the door. 764 opened his mouth to protest but 294 stepped up, slapping a hand over the other transgenics mouth, growling low in his throat, a warning that struck a primal chord in 764.

494 spared 294 a brief glance, but kept the majority of his attention on the conversation taking place on the other side of the door.

"Can you believe this shit?" an unknown male was saying. He heard the click and hiss of a match flaring to life and could just detect the barest hint of nicotine in the air.

"Our own personal fucking army," another guard chortled. "How sick is that?"

"We can take over the world, man," the first guard agreed, his breath a faint whoosh as the smell of smoke chased the odor of nicotine.

"Fuck that. Dude, have you seen some of those X4's? Fucking pussy for the taking, man. First thing tomorrow I'm gonna get me some of that, you dig?"

"Oh yeah. There's one – 215 I think is her designation – she fucking spit on me the other day when I suggested a little one on one private handling. I'm gonna enjoy 'training' her."

There was laughter that 494 couldn't completely understand but definitely did not like. Glancing over, he saw the shared sentiment in 253's eyes.

The two guards chuckled some more before shuffling away, their gaits lazy and relaxed.

"What's going on?" 202 spoke for the squad as 294 released 764 who whirled on him.

"I'm going to report you for this, soldier! Your behavior is insubordinate, not to mention treasonous." 764 was practically foaming at the mouth, and his anger filled the air, a faintly burnt pepper taste to it.

"Director Shepherd is turning us into his own private army," 494 stated, fixing his gaze on 764, who turned to glare at him.

"So?"

"So _that's _treason," 519 pointed out.

"We follow orders," 764 snapped back. "And our orders come from Director Shepherd."

"Who gets his orders from the United States government. Or is supposed to be," 036 scowled at the older transgenic.

"By repatriating the facility from the United States, Director Shepherd is committing the highest form of treason," 294 stated, his voice steady. 294 and 253 were a lot alike. Both were quiet, preferring to keep their thoughts and emotions to themselves, but 294 had his own group he looked out for; 519, 051, and 411.

The only other X5 who truly got along with 253 in their Squad was 111.

"So what are we supposed to do about it?" 276 let her eyes dart about the room, her expression mixed between dread and out and out fear.

"Our duty," 494 stated, straightening upright as he turned to face the rest of the squad.

"We need an end-to-end plan," 494 nodded his head in agreement to 294's statement.

"We don't have enough intel," 202 stated, straightening from her crouch over 501, deftly reaching behind her to haul him to his feet.

"We have knowledge of the schematics of the base," 494 stated. "We know where the weapons are."

"But we don't know where the guards are," 501 rubbed his arm where 764 had grabbed him, but kept his gaze steady on 494. Whatever was going down, 501 didn't trust 764 to handle it.

He wasn't sure he trusted 494, either, but so far the other transgenic had displayed more skill and adaptability in the last ten minutes than 764 had displayed in the last five years.

494 was quiet for a moment as he thought this over.

Truly excellent mission planning would have already given him this intel. In all their training missions so far, it had always been one of the key pieces of information imparted to them by their instructors.

But they didn't have instructors here, and they didn't have any information aside from conjecture.

"We can't not do anything," 295 finally stated, moving to stand behind 036, pressing his shoulder against her body for contact comfort.

"I'm not saying we shouldn't do anything," 501 argued. "I'm saying that we require more information."

"We have no way of acquiring that information," 253 finally stated.

"We don't have to." 494's words once more had the squad turning to look at him.

"What do you mean, 494?" 294 was curious. 494 had displayed no outstanding characteristics in training. He wasn't the best, the brightest. He didn't get heaps of praise like 764, and he didn't ace all their tests, like 253.

In short, he had done nothing to make any of them believe he was anything more than average.

But the solid way he said those words, the surety with which he held himself, had 294 hesitating to dismiss him outright.

"We can hear them coming. We can see them before they see us, and we can even smell them. We don't have to know where they are now, because we'll already _know_."

* * *

"I'm bored." Mole threw the words out casually, but there was a tightness to his expression that hinted to his pain.

There was nothing Shelby could do about it, either. Mole's metabolism had already eaten through two shots of morphine and advanced immune system or not, she wasn't about to give him a third, not with the chance of risking his life.

"Shut up," the guard snarled, his grip on his weapon tightening as he sneered down at the transhuman.

Mole sneered back, but the steady pressure of Shelby's hand on his knee kept him from doing anything more.

"So what do you think?" Shelby asked once the guard had wandered away. "How much trouble are we in?"

"You, not so much. Keep your pretty little head down and listen to the nasty man with his gun and you'll be fine. Me?" Mole shook his head, expression grim. "Chances of survival are dipping from twenty percent."

"Your shoulder's not that bad."

"It's not my shoulder I'm worried about."

They'd gotten the briefing, same as everybody else. Shepherd had had the whole thing broadcasted throughout the base.

_Cocksure bastard_.

He was an idiot. A goddamn, too stupid to live, idiot.

And he hated the transhumans and anomalies with a passion.

He would always spit when he saw one of them, mumbling something under his breath in a language Mole couldn't understand. But he always got the basic message.

_Watch your back,_ he would threaten silently. _Because the second the opportunity comes along, I will end you._

Opportunity was knocking, and Mole was pissed as hell that he was up here and his squad was down there.

Pissed, and worried. Because it was his job to protect them, and if he wasn't there to do it…

He'd seen death up close and personal. He'd lost one member of his squad early on in life, an up close and personal view into his future that made his stomach roil and changed him completely from that day forward.

He never, ever, wanted to see another of his buddies, his family, lying in the dirt, staring up at him with dead eyes.

He'd die himself first before he ever let that happen again.

* * *

"Well," Biggs had gotten to his feet and done a cursory inspection of the cell they were all locked in. "I can't see a way out. Anybody?"

"Notta," Jade replied, face pale from blood loss, expression borderline catonic.

"I don't know," JJ stated. "The more I look, the more Swanson's head starts to look just the right shape for a battering ram."

"Fuck you," Swanson snapped back, surly with his discomfort as he watched Biggs continue to pace.

"Nah," Biggs replied to JJ's statement. "Not hard-headed enough."

Swanson repeated his response to Biggs, causing the other man to shoot him a cocky grin from over his shoulder.

"They got a camera hooked up in here?"

Biggs knew from his investigation into his own little foray into the realm of Psy-Ops that some of the rooms were hooked up with remote surveillance. Probably designed to detect subversive elements or behaviors command sought to correct, which was exactly why Biggs needed to know if there was one in this room so he could get rid of it before they really started to plot.

"Up in the corner," JJ grunted, jerking his head to the northeast corner. "I tried to get to it while you were out, but it's too high."

"So boost me up," Biggs shrugged his shoulders. "Should be easy enough."

"So says the man who was drooling on the floor ten minutes ago." But JJ obediently got to his feet, hunching over so Biggs could stand on his back and reach the camera.

"Fucking Psy-Ops," Biggs swore, punching into the concrete with accurate force, wincing as the shock of the impact reverberated down his arm. Despite the moment of pain, though, he deftly yanked the power cord to the camera before pulling the whole thing from the wall.

"Catch," he called, tossing the disconnected apparatus to Swanson, who obediently held out his hands.

"What are we supposed to do with this?" Swanson asked, turning the useless piece of equipment over in his hands.

"Escape," Biggs smiled widely at the group. "Now, who's with me?"

* * *

"This is treason," 764 was still insisting half an hour later.

"Then don't come," 294 shot back with no small amount of annoyance as the squad stood in two separate groups on opposite sides of the barracks.

494 had come up with a plan, however slapped together.

Their first order of business was to collect armaments.

"We're going to shoot the Trainers?" 276 had blinked in surprise at that. "But isn't that a violation of orders? How will we know if we're shooting at the enemy?"

"They took Sergeant Biggs, didn't they?" 501 had taken up position on 494's left, with 294 occupying his right. "I think it's safe to assume that the only people walking around the base right now are the enemy."

He had a valid point, too. One that 494 was banking on to get them through this.

"What about the others? The ones who didn't cooperate, like Sergeant Biggs?" 510 asked from where she sat on her rack, arms wrapped around her knees as her gaze darted between the two groups.

"They're either dead or imprisoned," 494 stated with complete confidence. "That's one of our objectives, to determine which it is."

"Why?" 386 asked, expression tight. "What purpose does that serve?"

"If they're alive, we need to free them and add to our resistance," 202 answered for them.

"And if they're dead?" 294 was firmly in 494's corner; the other X5 had always been quiet, careful. His scores were so average, it was suspicious.

294 was fairly adept at picking up on random patterns and he could say with one glance that nothing about 494's scores was random. The other X5 had planned everything very carefully, thereby demonstrating an immeasurable amount of intelligence and strength that was the sole reason 294 was placing his faith on 494's shoulders.

But he wanted an answer to his question; he wanted to know how far 494 was going to push things.

"Then we find a way to take back the base and hold it until command sends reinforcements."

494 kept his voice calm and steady, but inside he was worried.

If the rest of the command staff was dead, then 494 wasn't sure he could keep the rest of his squad from quickly following.

"I don't want to go," 361 was 295's twin, and she was all but shaking as she wrapped her arms around herself and peered anxiously at her brother. "Please, stay with me?"

"No." 764 surprised all of them with that proclamation, his angry eyes steady on 494. "If he goes, we all go."

"But – "

"That's an order, soldier," 764 barked at the protesting female before turning his gaze back to 494 with a sneer.

They was a challenge in his eyes that 494 didn't like. It stirred something in him, deep in his chest that urged him to react to the unspoken threat, but he pushed it back with sheer force of will.

They had a mission to accomplish, one that their very lives depended on.

* * *

"This is fun," JJ grunted, straining against the locked door. The apparatus the camera had been hanging from had provided them with a makeshift crow bar they were using to attempt to pry the doors open. So far, they'd managed to strain already sore muscles and maybe cause some mild damage to the locking mechanism, but that was pretty much it.

"How's your leg?" Biggs was concerned about Jade; his coloring was shit, and his breathing was shittier. And his leg was still bleeding, despite the hour or so they'd been here.

"I'll live," Jade promised him with steely eyed determination. "Just get that fucking door open. _General Hospital _starts in an hour."

Biggs laughed at that one.

"General Hospital, man." He chuckled before moving to take his turn at the door from JJ.

"Seriously?" JJ panted, surrendering his position to pant and turning his head to stare at Jade. "You watch that shit?"

"Every damn day," Jade replied with a toothy smile. "I love the plot lines."

* * *

They were down to four. Four pissed off, mean as a snake, itchy-fingered guards who paced through the room with smiles that sent chills down Shelby's spine.

"Don't worry, Princess," Mole promised her around a shaky breath. "I won't let them touch you."

Despite his joking manner, Mole was dead serious. Biggs had done a lot for him over the years, the least he could do to return the favor was protect this chick.

Shelby gave him a faint smile in reply as she worked. They'd managed to assemble themselves back into some sort of order, with the medical staff returning to their jobs with the instructions that they weren't going to be allowed to leave just yet.

For some of them, they weren't going to be allowed to leave ever.

They'd been permitted to move the body of their dead supervisor into one of the back rooms. It'd been such a messy, disgusting affair that two techs had outright vomited, adding more of a mess to the already gore soaked floor.

A pale-faced and glassy eyed janitor had been ushered into the room to clean it up. Even now, the old man was swiping at the floor with a sponge.

Shelby was currently working, going back to what she had been doing before, but only after she'd been permitted to fix up Mole. Removing the bullet had been a crude affair, her hands steady despite the trembling fear that radiated throughout her body, but she'd managed to get him stitched up and to stem the blood flow, which he was extremely grateful for.

She'd even managed to get him some water, which was even better, as well as a blanket.

He was currently occupying a bed in the back corner, the curtains pulled just enough to give them the vaguest semblance of privacy.

"I give it an hour," Mole stated, breaking the silence that had fallen over them.

"Hmmm? What?" Shelby blinked at him, her expression confused and scared, but it was the determination that had Mole blinking.

"What?" He asked, completely forgetting his previous line of thought.

"You said you gave it an hour. An hour for what?"

"Oh." Mole smiled. "Until Biggs hauls his stubborn ass in here, guns blazing, and kills these motherfuckers."

He'd seen Biggs do it, too.

One of the guards – a monster if there'd ever been one – had tried something with Callie.

Callie had been terrified, scared to death both of the gun pointed at her head and the man holding it, who had insisted she undress.

He'd been groping her, gun to her forehead, when Biggs had walked in, wondering why it was taking Callie so long to use the head.

Biggs may have been out of combat for a couple of years, but his reflexes were as sharp as ever, his aim dead on.

Biggs had told him later, after Callie was asleep, comfortably curled up under a pile of bodies, that he'd been sorry he had to do it.

"You're sorry?" Mole had been furious; up until that moment, he'd viewed Biggs as a stand up guy. He didn't treat them like animals, but like people, and now he was changing his mind?

"Sorry she had to see that," Biggs had replied, eyes still locked on the sleeping female. He'd been silent for a few beats, letting Mole come to terms with that fact, before he'd turned to face the transhuman, his eyes shiny with tears, it seemed.

"She's just a fucking kid. You all are. Nobody should have to through that." He'd shaken his head, turning his attention back to the sleeping pile. "Nobody."

Biggs was a fucking Saint, practically on the level of God in Mole's eyes.

Call it dumb hero worship, but Mole couldn't fight the feeling that Biggs was going to be the one to ride in and save the day like he had so many times before.

* * *

Despite his earlier words, 764 quickly decided that some of them needed to stay behind – the majority, as a matter of fact.

If too many of them went missing, chances were good that somebody would notice and their element of surprise would be destroyed.

So instead of a full compliment of soldiers, there were eight of them.

494, 253, 294, 202, 501, 683, 820 and himself.

They moved carefully through the halls, avoiding the guards and the cameras until, with barely breathed sighs, they arrived at the first weapons locker.

"Small arms only," 494 reminded them, earning himself a sneer from 764, who reached past him to grab an M16.

494 let him, wordlessly handing 501 a 9mm Berretta before passing 202 a Sig Sauer, her preferred weapon of choice. 820 slinked silently by to procure a second M16 from the back

Grabbing another Sig for his own use, 494 carefully adjusted his grip before ducking his head out of the armory.

"We need to find the others," he murmured, his voice low as he checked the halls.

"Where?" 294 asked, checking the magazine in his own Berretta before sliding it home and chambering a round.

"Where they put all the bad soldiers," 202 replied, her voice quiet, head bowed as she stared at the gun in her hand.

Even 253 paled at that.

"This way." 494 didn't give them time to think, already moving down the hall. 294 followed wordlessly, 202 and 501 exchanging a quick look before trotting after them on cats feet with 683 trailing behind.

253 hesitated a moment, glancing over at 764, who was scowling again. Shooting his SIC an angry look, 764 padded after the others, leaving 253 and 820 to watch their six.

Giving their surroundings one last anxious look, 253 carefully closed the door to the weapons locker before slinking silently after them.

* * *

Two floors below, watching monitors of cameras that had been strategically placed over the years without Manticore's explicit knowledge, Major David Jacobs double checked the straps holding his small arsenal to his body, one eye on the task at hand, the other on the X5's slipping silently down the halls.

"That's one hell of a squad leader they have there." Colton Danvers had been one of the men Jacobs had silently inserted into Manticore's command structure over the years.

He, along with the eleven other men occupying the small sub-basement room, long forgotten but hardly without its uses, were part of a small strike teams Jacobs had personally trained in light of this eventuality.

He'd known Shepherd was fucking nuts for years now, but he also knew that the Committee wasn't in any hurry to replace him. Shepherd got them results and as long as his methods worked, they continued to keep him in charge.

Jacobs had warned them, though, for years that this was going to happen. And now that it had, he didn't even get to say an I-told-you-so for good effect.

No, he was here, in a dank basement room, with a bunch of other men, watching through secretly placed cameras as a small group of seven X5's moved like quiet phantoms through the levels above them.

Squinting at the screen, Jacobs struggled to differentiate their barcodes, but the pixilation on the screens had all the lines blurring together. He'd recognized two of them, though, right off the bat.

He was surprised as hell to see 764 out and about – the X5 had shown decent leadership capabilities under Shepherds rule, but most of those 'capabilities' had been exaggerated or outright falsified by Biggs.

Sides, kid was more of a follower than an actual leader.

The other kid, though…

494 was a natural born leader if Jacobs had ever seen one. If it hadn't been his idea to raid the weapons locker, Jacobs would eat his hat.

"That ain't a squad leader," Jacobs replied, giving the strap of his thigh holster one last firm tug before swinging the M16 on his shoulder around in its strap so he could get a grip on it.

"Should be," Creed Sheba stated, quietly slipping a knife into its holster.

Colton grunted his agreement.

"Alright, people," Jacobs called to the room in general, careful to keep his voice pitched just so.

"We've got a base to secure," he ordered, his gaze steady on each and every one of his men.

"Alpha Team, secure the communications room. Beta, get the main armory. Charlie, you're in charge of retrieving the friendlies. And Delta, well," Jacobs smiled, a feral bearing of teeth that brought to mind the more animalistic of the transgenics. "We're going hunting."

* * *

"Almost there," Swanson grunted through his straining as he pulled back on the door with everything he had.

They were tired, sweaty, sore, and rapidly becoming dehydrated, but none of them were any less determined to get than they had been when they started.

"Fuck!" Swanson wasn't the only one who cursed as the makeshift crowbar snapped clear in half sending him stumbling back into JJ, who caught him with a startled grunt.

"Well, shit," Biggs murmured, hands on hips as he quietly panted and stared at the broken piece of metal lodged firmly in the crevice of the door.

They could still try and get some leverage out of it, but without a handle to push on, they were going to have to bleed – quite possibly a lot – before they were going to go anywhere.

**A/N: **No real editing aside from separating it into two chapters. Enjoy.


	3. Chapter 3

494's hand blurred through the air in a fist, stopping when his elbow was bent at a full ninety degree angle, his entire focus in front of him.

The seven X5's trailing him came to a halt, carefully lowering themselves closer to the ground for leverage and decreased possibility of detection by the enemy.

494 could hear boot treads in front of him, but that wasn't what had him pausing.

Behind those boot treads was another sound – faint but there. More footsteps, quiet and barely perceptible, of someone who was trying to sneak up on someone else.

And since the enemy combatants currently had command of this facility, 494 was pretty sure that the two people sneaking up on the guards were friendlies.

He was so relieved that it was no longer his sole responsibility to take care of things here that it took all he had to stay in place, even as his delicate hearing heard the tell-tale sound of two bodies dropping to the floor.

Turning to look over his shoulder, 494 gestured for his small squad to be ready even as he rose from his crouch, his hands on his weapon in a textbook guard position.

* * *

Taking out the guards had been fucking easy – way too fucking easy.

_Sloppy ass motherfuckers, _Creed thought to himself as he trailed silently behind Ezekial Knight and Roscoe Jenkins.

Catching sight of Creed's expression, Ezekial let his lips curl up in a half grin. He knew exactly what the other guy was thinking.

_Too-stupid to live._

It was too damn bad they had standing orders not to kill any of these dumbasses.

Despite being in the back of the line, it was Creed's abrupt tensing that had the other two soldiers freezing.

_[What is it?]_ Roscoe signed with his hands, exchanging an uneasy look with Ezekial. Creed was infamous for bad feelings; whenever he got one, things usually went to shit without so much as a warning.

_[Kids.]_ Creed signed back, shrugging his shoulders to do away with his uneasy feeling. He was one of the newer recruits to Jacobs team, so he hadn't had as much time to get used to the child soldiers as the rest of them had.

It was still fucking unnerving to him, walking past a five year old and getting the same gut-punched feeling he got from Taliban or Hammas.

_Fucking dangerous_, his instincts screamed, his finger lightly caressing the trigger as Roscoe motioned for them to move forward.

* * *

There were three of them, dressed in full body armor and carrying more weaponry individually than all of them combined.

The lead one drew up short, his breath audibly catching as he muttered an epitaph under his breath and jerked his head around to stare at one of the other soldiers.

"Motherfucker, Creed. Goddamnit that is just plain fucking creepy."

The one designated Creed pulled his mask up as he stared at the eight young soldiers in front of him, grim faced.

"What the fuck are we supposed to do with them?" The first speaker continued, pulling his own mask up as he peered down at them.

494 had been mildly worried when the first man had pulled his mask up, but when the second and third followed, his worry grew into suspicion. It wasn't unusual for them to not know all of the staff on site by sight, but to not be able to recognize any of the three men in front of him?

"We have our orders," the second man stated, cocking his head to the side as he studied them.

"We're wasting time," Creed stated, glancing around them with eerily calm eyes. "They come with us."

Ezekial fought the urge to give his partner a head check; Creed was normally a pretty mellow guy, but taking a bunch of six year olds into a full-on hostage situation?

Roscoe was frowning at Creed, his expression searching as he visibly tried to follow Creed's logic on this and equally visibly came up short.

"Sure," Ezekial surprised all of them, himself included, with his shoulder shrug. "Why the hell not?"

The eight small kids in front of him watched their exchange silently and with faces full of open curiosity.

"Where you kids heading?" It felt completely fucking ridiculous, not to mention more than a little surreal, to be taking time out of a high-risk operation to chat up a bunch of children, but Ezekial couldn't quite figure out how to move forward.

"Psy-Ops," one of them spoke for the others, her voice just a little higher pitched than the others, her face just a touch more delicate, both of which helped him identify her as female.

Some of the guys that had actual interaction with the kids joked that it was pretty damn hard to tell them apart sometimes. Ezekial hadn't bought that line of thought up until this moment.

"Psy-Ops," he repeated with a nod and a wry smile. "What a funny coincidence; that's where we were heading."

* * *

Shelby checked on Mole once more before gliding silently out from behind the curtain and heading for the drug cabinet.

"What are you doing?" One of the guards asked, hands tightening on his weapon as he eyed her with no small amount of suspicion.

"I'm getting antibiotics," Shelby replied, unlocking the cabinet and grabbing some vials before pulling out several syringes.

"What the fuck for?" the guard questioned belligerently.

"For the DAC," Shelby made that statement sound as obvious as she could, throwing in a disbelieving look for good measure.

"Bullshit," the guard raised his weapon slightly. "Those freaks don't need antibiotics."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Shelby turned to face the guard, letting a hint of the anger she had coursing through her leak onto her face. "Everybody needs antibiotics, even the X-series."

"Bull-fucking-shit," the guard repeated, sneering at her with open distaste and hostility. "I wasn't born yesterday, bitch. I know those freaks got some sort of revved up immune system."

"When they're adults, they'll be damn near immune to everything," Shelby replied. "Right now, they're healthy than most kids, but they can still catch colds. And what does this have to do with the DAC, anyways?"

"He's a fucking freak, just like the rest of them."

"Wrong. He's a DAC; he wasn't designed with advanced autoimmune functioning."

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"It means," Renee Gallagher broke in, gliding over from the lab station where she'd been quietly doing her work for the past half an hour, "that DAC's were designed specifically for the purpose of operating in hostile desert terrain; in their natural habitats, virtually nothing can make them sick."

"Get to the fucking point, lady," the guards finger tightened minutely on the trigger, but his surly expression and reluctant attention made it clear he was listening.

"This isn't their natural habitat," Shelby picked up as Renee unwrapped a syringe and carefully turned the drug so she could read the label before plunging the syringe home and pulling out several cc's of the drug inside. "Germs here will make them sick and an infection could kill him."

"What-the-fuck-ever," the guard dismissed them with a sneer, moving silently away to hover over another nervous tech.

Renee said nothing as she helped Shelby fill two more syringes before silently putting the drugs back in the freezer.

"When?" was all she asked when she turned back to face Shelby.

"Ten minutes," Shelby replied, calmly accepting two of the syringes from Renee and watching carefully as the other nurse rolled the others into her front pocket.

Renee said nothing, merely nodding in reply before calmly strolling away.

"You're up to something," Mole murmured quietly as Shelby returned to him.

"What makes you say that?" Mole smiled, faintly amused, in reply. His shoulder hurt like hell and coupled with his worry over his squad, he was feeling pretty shitty, but feeling shitty had yet to make him completely stupid.

"You have that look that females get whenever they're about to make trouble for some dumb male."

Shelby arched an eyebrow.

"How very astute of you," she murmured dryly, gently pushing him back down and tucking the lone blanket she'd managed to procure more firmly around him.

"Just let me know if you need my help," Mole sassed, grinning at her faint smile.

If he didn't feel so shitty, he could have almost said he was having fun.

* * *

_{Charlie, this is Operations Command. You read me?}_

The one called Ezekial held up his hand, motioning for their whole group to stop. The two soldiers with him stopped in obedience; the eight children stopped in awe.

They'd been walking with the adult soldiers for only a few minutes and already they'd learned something new; how to walk silently.

They had the added advantage of cat DNA, which made them naturally quiet, but Creed had quickly shown them the proper way to move their feet to ensure complete and utter silence. Neither Ezekial or the other man, Roscoe, could do it quite as well as Creed, but they had other skills that impressed the kids.

Roscoe had a whole list of new words that they were eager to learn. 202, especially, was bright eyed whenever Roscoe would use them, leading Ezekial to admonish the other man with a pointed look towards their young audience.

And Ezekial…

He was calm, rational, cool, decisive, smart, tactically intelligent…everything a good CO was listed as being.

Five minutes in his company and 494 already found himself respecting the man in the way that he had been told to respect all Trainer's but could never quite succeed in that aspect.

_{I read, OPCOM. What's up?}_

_{We have a mission divergence for you.} _Ezekial pulled a face as Roscoe swore and Creed looked on impassively, 820 by his side. The young transgenic had picked up on the silent walking surprisingly well, earning him a spot by the silent mans side as they scouted ahead.

_{Go.}_ Was all Ezekial said as they silently took cover out of sight of the cameras and away from the guards routes. With hand signals, Ezekial motioned for Creed to take 820 and 683, the next quietest, with him to watch their front and Roscoe to take 253 and 202 and watch their back. The remaining four were given posts around the small space they'd crammed themselves in to watch and guard.

_{We have a Priority Alpha personnel on site} _the voice in Ezekial's ear was grim, which pretty much summed up the other man's feelings at that moment. Any time a mission that was going well got interrupted, it meant one giant snafu. Then again, any time a mission was going well, it was already destined to hit a snafu along the way.

Maybe this was just fates way of speeding up the process.

_{Copy that. You want me to conduct a snatch and grab?}_

_{Negative, Charlie. Observe and secure. Understood?}_

_{Understood.}_

_{Good. Here are your stats…} _Ezekial scribbled out the description given to him on a mini pad of paper with a stubby pencil, double checking all of his data before ending the radio communication.

"What's the news?" Roscoe asked, scrunching his form down so they could talk quietly and still hear each other. Creed crouched behind him, expression calm while 820 echoed his posture.

Ezekial was mildly amused; 820 obviously had a pretty major case of hero worship going on. Credit given where credit was due: at least 820 wasn't going all puppy dog, moon-eyed, lick-your-boots devoted on them.

"The news is we're splitting up. Roscoe, you and me are going after this Priority Alpha. Creed, you're going to continue on to liberate the friendlies."

"And the kids?"

"Half with us, half with Creed," Ezekial answered Roscoe's question, looking the other man steady in the eyes as he did so.

Creed had the easiest time with the kids for reasons Ezekial was slightly baffled by. Maybe because they were freakishly quiet like him.

Ezekial was a little less enamored and a little more worried. Jacobs had assured all of them that these kids were something else, but what if the Major was simply blowing smoke out of his ass?

His trust in Jacobs was strong in military matters, but shaky on this. He, like Roscoe, wasn't exactly thrilled with the thought of child soldiers.

* * *

Shelby hovered over Mole, pressing buttons on a machine that he had no idea what it was but was insanely curious to find out given the amount of fussing the woman was doing.

"What – " He started to ask, only to be cut short by Shelby holding up a finger and peering anxiously over her shoulder before turning back to him.

"I need you to do me a favor," she finally murmured, gently and carefully extracting the syringes from her pocket and showing them to him. His eyebrows arched in curiosity.

"Sure thing, Princess. What?"

"I need you to die." That had him blinking as he cocked his head to the side and stared.

He had questions, that was for damn sure, but, astonishingly, he also had faith.

"No problem."

* * *

Creed got his doppelganger along with 202, 501, and 253. The segued seamlessly away from the group, moving silently into the bowels of the building as they drifted past guard after guard straight into the depths of the source of every nightmare the X5's had ever had.

202 and 501 moved closer together in response, pale faces even paler under the harsh fluorescent lights and the weight of memories.

253's grip tightened on his weapon, his expression fiercely determined as he moved.

And 820 drew up short right at the entrance, his entire body vibrating with tensions and – was that a growl?

Creed turned his body slightly to look at the young transgenic, his expression carefully neutral.

"We need to move," he stated, voice free of any influencing inflection.

820 darted his eyes away from the endless rows of cells he'd been staring at to raise his gaze to meet Creeds.

"I'm afraid." That drew the other three soldiers up short, their expressions borderline shocked by the admission.

Fear made you weak, and weaknesses were not tolerated by Manticore. Their soldiers were taught to not tolerate them as well.

Though the admission came as a shock to the other three, it was more than obvious they felt the same way.

"I know," Creed replied, eyes and voice steady, both directed at the frozen 820. "But you need to move forward."

820 was trembling now, faintly but obviously as his gaze dropped to the threshold in front of him.

"I don't want to," he stated finally, quietly.

"You don't have to," Creed replied, his abrupt switch causing the young soldier to blink as he tilted his head back to stare up at the adult in front of him.

"I don't?" There was puzzled curiosity there, with a hint of longing.

"No," Creed replied, stepping forward until he was kneeling in front of the kid, hands carefully placed on his shoulders.

"You can stare here and let them win; let them make you afraid. Or you can step forward and throw it all in their faces."

820 was mystified now.

"What does that mean?" He asked. Creed felt a momentary pang in the direction of his heart, but let it slide as he refocused on the little boy in front of him.

"It means in war there are two parties; the victors and the defeated. If you don't take a step forward, they become the victors and you become the defeated. Don't let them win, kid."

Military terminology was obviously the way to go. Having been taught since birth that victory was the only objective, 820 was conditioned to want to win. Even better, something inside of him, deep inside where he felt things not with his head but with his instincts, was growling, urging him onward, fiercely opposed to the thought of being weak and caged, even if it was by his own decisions.

"Understood, Sir," was all he said though as he took that first step forward.

He was trembling and shaking and still scared, but he was also determined.

He wasn't going to let them win.

Whoever 'they' were.

* * *

_And we have contact…_

Ezekial had found a hidden spot within sight of the windows of the room their Priority Alpha was currently holed up in.

The old man looked grim. Grim faced, grim postured…just plain grim.

And a little pissed off.

Ezekial was starting to like him already.

"They have guards posted at all the main entrances," 683 reported as he stood in front of Ezekial.

"We're gonna have to split, then," Ezekial kept his eyes on the room, doing his own visual sweep.

There were three doorways into the tech room. Two were from outside hallways and the third was a connecting door between rooms.

He'd take the connecting door along with 494 and 294. 683 and 764 would take the outside hall entrances.

"Quick and quiet, no weapons unless they fire on you first. Take 'em out with maximum force."

"Sir?" 683 blinked in obvious confusion.

"Kill 'em," Ezekial put it as bluntly as he could. "Kill the enemy hostiles quickly and quietly. Understood?"

"Yes, Sir," four soft voices chorused back.

"Good," Ezekial nodded his head as he turned his attention back to the room.

"494, 294, you're with me. 764 take the south entrance, 683 had the west. I will breach from the other room first and you will immediately follow my lead. Capeche?"

Silence greeted him and he turned, with no small amount of annoyance, to find four blank faces staring back at him.

These kids had no idea what he'd just said.

"Fuck me," he murmured quietly, marveling and feeling just a little gut punched by the revelation that unless it had something to do with war and killing, it was doubtful these kids had any idea what he was saying.

_Fucking shit_.

"Understood?" He rephrased quietly and firmly. Their faces immediately cleared and 683 even nodded.

"Understood, Sir," they repeated dutiful. Ezekial shook his head, though, as he turned back to facing the room.

"Let's move."

* * *

"Gallagher!" Shelby shoved back the curtains, her expression frantic as the EKG machine wailed in the background.

Renee didn't even hesitate as she rushed over.

"He crashed, BP's 60/50 and dropping," Shelby rattled off stats like they were nothing regardless of the fact that they were complete bullshit. She knew how to draw blood from the DAC's, but other than that, she had no idea what their normal stats were.

Mole, for his part, was convulsing like mad, expression tight with pain as Renee reached over to try and hold him down.

"We need to strap him to the bed," Renee snapped, pressing down on Mole's arm and getting no where.

"You!" She pointed to one of the guards, stepping around Mole's firm to reach over and grab the guard by his arm and yanking him over to Mole.

"Hold him down while we strap him in," she instructed, grabbing a second guard who'd wandered over to press down on Mole's other arm.

Shelby was on one side of the bed, Renee on the other. The two women exchanged a quick look as they both maneuvered the syringes full of sedatives either out of their pockets or off of the counter.

"What the – " one of the guards managed to growl out, snarling in anger as his eyes drooped and conciousness slipped away. The other guard, a young kid who'd seemed more scared than authoritative, slipped silently away, his eyes rolling up in his head and his body going limp.

"Hey!" Shelby practically yelled, catching the guard and grunting under his weight, her expression equal parts mystified and fearful.

"What the fuck!" The angry guard from before returned, along with the guy who'd shot their supervisor, both of them yanking their weapons up as they caught sight of their unconscious colleagues.

"I think it's the DAC," Shelby gasped out, gently lowering the soldier to the ground and kneeling over him. "They touched him and just passed out."

"Why the fuck would that happen? And what about you two?" The angry guard waved his gun toward Renee, expression furious.

"We've been inoculated against these things," Renee snapped, visibly unhappy with having a weapon pointed at her. "You haven't."

"You're telling me that things fucking contagious?" The shooter raised his weapon and sighted on a still convulsing Mole.

"He has to be," Renee shot back, stepping over the unconscious guard and maneuvering away from Mole, her expression guarded as she kept her eyes on the convulsing transhuman until she was level with the angry guard. "There's no other reason for them to just drop like that."

"So let's just shoot him," the angry guard instructed, raising his weapon, his finger tightening on the trigger. Renee caught sight of Shelby's frantic eyes and moved.

Decapping the needle and thrusting it straight into the angry guards neck, he managed a startled roar and a massive heave, sending her flying back into the wall, even as the shooter turned and brought his weapon to bear, aiming straight at her.

Shelby lunged, wrapping her arms and legs around the shooter and throwing off his aim as he struggled against her sudden influx of weight.

She managed to decap her needle and plunge it home, but she didn't release the guard until he started to drop.

Crouching over him carefully, ignoring the looks of the startled techs throughout the room, she leaned over him and carefully grabbed his weapon before rushing over to where Renee was struggling to push herself upright.

"Are you okay?" She asked, kneeling over the other female.

"Hit my head," Renee grunted in reply, raising her hand to touch said head and grimacing as it came away with just the faintest traces of blood.

"Might be a concussion," Shelby murmured quietly, frowning as she ran her fingers over the rapidly forming bump. Renee snorted and opened her mouth to say something only to stop. Shelby could see her eyes widening, her mouth forming a startled and fearful 'O'.

Renee was moving to push her aside even as she turned her head to find the angry guard back on his feet, weapon in hand and expression even more pissed as he aimed it at her.

"Bitch," he slurred out around wobbly feet. "Gonna fuckin' kill you."

Shelby had a moment of pure panic as she hugged Renee to her, closing her eyes and praying to whatever deities existed that she'd get to see her sister in her next life, only to come up short as a loud crack rang throughout the room.

Renee let out a startled gasp even as Shelby opened her eyes. The first thing she saw was Renee's awed and grateful expression.

The second thing she saw was a slightly wobbly Mole standing over the decidedly dead body of the guard.

"Told you I wouldn't let 'em get you," Mole grunted out.

"You shouldn't be up," Shelby ordered harshly as she climbed to her feet and moved to help the ailing transhuman back into bed.

"Gun," was all Mole grunted by way of protest. Wordlessly, Renee, slightly wobbly on her own feet, slid the weapon in Mole's hand, giving him a small, grateful smile.

"Thank you," she murmured with heartfelt sincerity.

"You're welcome," Mole replied, grinning faintly in reply.

"Well," a new voice spoke from the doorway, startling all of them and leading Mole to bring his weapon up so fast it went from at his side to in front of him faster than a blink of the eye. The man in the doorway smiled widely in response.

"Looks like my job just got a little bit easier."

* * *

"How's the bleeding?" JJ nodded his head towards Swanson who had joined Jade on the floor as out for the count.

"It slowed," Biggs grunted in reply, rearing back to give the bar one more vicious kick.

Swanson had misjudged, slipped, or otherwise gotten fucked up by fate once more. His kick had been off and the jagged end of the bar had sliced through his leg which had promptly started gushing blood.

The whole cell stank of a heady mixture of blood, sweat, and fear and it was making Biggs' stomach roil.

The door was wedged open slightly, though, which was a definite plus. Give them a couple more hours, it might be wide enough for them to slip through. Of course, by then Jade would be dead and Swanson would be rapidly on his way to joining him.

"Wait," JJ held up a hand as Biggs moved to give the door another kick.

Biggs obediently halted, taking advantage of the momentary lull to catch his breath only to straighten abruptly as he recognized the reason for JJ's caution.

"Fuck."

* * *

501 held his breath as the group of guards and staff passed underneath him.

He recognized Director Shepherd and his chief aide, Brooks, but the rest of them were a complete mystery that didn't matter; he knew from his training that Shepherd would be their primary target.

Below him, Creed hid in the shadows while next to him, the rest of their group struggled to breath evenly and quietly, their arms and legs shaking under the strain of supporting them.

It was hard for 501 to believe now, but he knew from overheard conversations that in a few years he would be expected to perform this same action without so much as breaking a sweat.

The guards rounded a corner and 501 waited a ten count before quietly dropping, the others quickly following.

Creed appeared then, stepping out of the shadows so suddenly that the only one of them who didn't jerk back in surprise was 820, who had seemed to find some sort of weird calm the deeper they traveled into Psy-Ops territory.

_[Follow]_ Creed motioned with his hands, taking point and indicating for 501 to cover their six.

* * *

Biggs was positioned next to the door when it slid open, the broken off piece of pipe in hand.

The first guy through the door never knew what hit him, dead before he hit the ground. The second guy managed a half-ass defense and the third was barely fazed as he disarmed Biggs with a well timed punch-kick combo that left the other man wheezing.

JJ managed to take out his own two before being slammed into a wall, 9mm pressed firmly to his temple.

"Michael, Michael, Michael," Shepherd tsked as he moved into the room, sparing the unconscious Jade and barely conscious Swanson a brief sneer before turning to face Biggs.

"You never were smart enough to pick the winning side."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Biggs grunted around the boot that was firmly pressed to his windpipe.

"Two years ago," Shepherd stated, expression morphing into a mask of cold fury. "I offered you a chance to be great and you, you laughed in my face."

"Must not have been that great," Biggs grunted. Shepherd nodded and suddenly Biggs and being attacked from all sides by booted feet.

"You son of a bitch!" JJ made a lunge for freedom and came up short, slamming back into the wall with a painful thud and a abbreviated grunt.

"That's enough," Shepherd stated, waiting patiently for Biggs to refocus on him before continuing.

"I'm a generous man, Michael," Shepherd stated, casually stepping forward until he was standing directly above the other man. "So generous, I've already given you two chances to make a decision and while disappointed by your choices, I am, nevertheless, willing to give you one more chance."

"Fuck you," Biggs grunted, eyes flashing in genuine rage.

God, he fucking hated Shepherd. There was a whole list of people whom he couldn't stand, but right now, you could shove one of them in his face and give him a knife and the first person he would lunge for would be Shepherd.

"Brooks," Shepherd stated softly, eyes locked on Michaels. "Shoot Johnson."

"My pleasure," the suited man all but growled, effortlessly retrieving a gun from the guard next to him and firing straight into JJ's leg.

"No!" Biggs screamed, fighting against the pain in his body and the pile of guards to get to his feet and get to JJ, who was collapsed on the ground, pale faced and sweating, a brief scream echoing throughout the room along with the reverberation of the gunshot.

"You fucking bastard! I'm going to fucking kill you!" Biggs lunged again, yelping in pain as one of the guards slammed his booted foot down, hard, on Biggs already bruised ribs, audibly cracking them.

"My generosity has limits, Michael," Shepherd stated calmly. "Decide, right here and right now; join me or watch your friend die."

Brooks wordlessly brought his gun up several inches until it was aimed directly at JJ's head.

Biggs was silent, wordless in rage and pain and absolute fear. JJ was his friend, practically his brother.

And Biggs would do just about anything to keep him alive.

* * *

The gunshot came as a big of surprise, startling even Creed into a momentary pause before he moved forward with a determined stride.

The guards were crowded around and in the cell, from what Creed could see.

There were about six of them, not including Shepherd and his aide.

Creed could take out three, no sweat, but with Brooks armed and Shepherd bat-shit psycho, three was all he'd be able to take out before somebody got to him.

Which was where the kids came in.

501 was shaking and for a moment Creed thought it was with fear until he could sight of the absolute rage in the small kids eyes.

Next to him, 202 had her teeth bared in a feral like snarl. Even the stoic faced 253 looked mad, and 820…

Kid looked absolutely determined, which was good.

For his plan to work, Creed needed determined.

Angry definitely helped, too.

* * *

"You fucking bastard," Biggs repeated, grunting around the pain in his ribs and the foot once more pressed warningly against his windpipe.

Another gunshot and another startled scream from JJ actually had Biggs crying. The second he got out of this fucking cell, Shepherd was a fucking dead man.

"Your choice, Michael," Shepherd reminded him almost gently, his expression the picture of benevolence.

_Bastard was fucking crazy_, Biggs thought, blinking as movement just outside of the cell caught his attention.

He recognized the transgenic, 501, and had a brief moment to think what the fuck before Shepherd moved, drawing Biggs attention back to the other man.

"What?" He demanded, snarling the word up at the man.

Whatever 501 was doing outside of his cell, Biggs knew that if Shepherd caught him, the kid would be dead, so Biggs had to keep the other man distracted while he got away.

"Decide, Michael. Join me, and I'll have Staff Sergeant Johnson transferred to the infirmary immediately."

"And if I don't?" Brooks' finger tightened on the trigger again.

"No!" Biggs yelled, practically sobbing the word. "No! Don't…just, don't."

"So you've made your decision, then?" Shepherd visibly perked up, all but preening, and Biggs was suddenly very fucking curious as to why Shepherd was so gung-ho about Biggs being on his side.

And then, with a snap, a couple of bullets, and several angry transgenics later, he was still curious, but a lot more relieved.

"Who the fuck are you?" He asked the man standing over Shepherds unconscious form.

"Creed," the other man answered matter-of-factly. "We're here to rescue you."

"Well," Biggs blinked as 501 skidded to the ground next to him, expression fierce.

"Are you okay, Sir?" 501 asked, little 202 coming to stand next to him while 253 hovered and 820 all but glued himself to Creed's side, the whole lot of them largely oblivious to the carnage around them as the focused in on Biggs.

"Okay then," Biggs muttered, just flat out done in for the day.

He'd worry about all this fucked up shit in the morning. Right now, he had people to get to the infirmary, himself among them.

He hesitated, though, halfway upright, to blink at Creed.

"Do we have command of the facility back yet?"

Creed grinned, a feral and not at all comforting sight.

"Give me five minutes."

* * *

Shelby eyed Ezekial Knight for a moment before focusing her attention in on 494.

She saw him periodically, made it a point to visit the yards when he was training just to watch him, but this was the closest she'd been to him in almost five years and she was soaking up every minute of it.

494 eyed the red-haired woman curiously. She looked familiar, smelled familiar, but he couldn't quite place why.

"494."

494 spared the lady one last curious look before trotting over to where 294 and Ezekial were standing.

"We've got two guards next to this door," Ezekial murmured quietly, peeking through the blinds into the other room.

"I've got the one on the left, 294'll take the one on the right. I want you to secure the Priority Alpha, 494."

"Me, Sir?" 494 blinked in surprise. He knew a Priority Alpha was a big assignment and he wasn't sure why Ezekial would give it to him. If it had been 764 commanding this mission, 764 would have taken the prime position of retrieving and protecting the target.

"You," Ezekial fought a grin at the X5's slightly mystified and definitely proud expression.

"We breach in seven, six, five…"

494 was aware of a sharp intake of breath behind him.

He was aware of sounds of a struggle and gunfire.

And he was aware of the Priority Alpha effortlessly breaking the neck of one of the guards before 494 reached him and took out the other one.

The Priority Alpha said nothing as 494 pulled him to the ground.

He did, however, scowl ferociously as 494 tried to place himself between the subject and the remaining hostiles in the room.

He was surprisingly strong for an ordinary, 494 found himself thinking as the Priority Alpha pushed him to the ground.

But not nearly as quick.

494 had himself upright and maneuvered before the other man could blink, his weapon at the ready as the sounds of struggled ceased.

"All clear," Ezekial called out a few moments later, voice tight.

Climbing to his feet to see what had happened, 494 pulled the Priority Alpha up after him and turned only to take a startled step back as 683's lifeless eyes stared up at him.

"Sir?" 494 was gobsmacked as he twisted his head to stare up at a grim-faced Ezekial.

"He's dead, 494," Ezekial replied, couching down and gently placing his fingers on the dead boys eyelids to close them. "Live fire."

Next to Ezekial, 294 stared down at the dead body tight lipped and wide eyed while 764 was quite visibly pale, shaky, and sweating.

"He's dead," 764 replied, voice cracking. "He's really dead."

It wasn't that any of them were particularly close to 683, but he was a member of their squad. They'd been together since they were kids and now…he just wasn't here anymore.

"What are your orders, soldier?" the Priority Alpha spoke, his voice strong and cultured as he drew Ezekial's attention back to him.

"To get you the hell out of here, Sir," Ezekial replied about as respectfully as he could.

He was visibly collected, but the truth was, he was about five seconds away from losing it.

He was just a goddamn kid…

"Then let's go."

* * *

**March, 2005**

"They did good," Lydecker noted with a grunt as he stood next to Colonel Jacobs and watched the X5's training in the yard below.

"Damn good," the newly promoted Colonel agreed, arms crossed as he stared passively down at them.

"Where's Shepherd?" Jacobs asked after a long moments silence, redirecting the flow of conversation.

"Dead," Lydecker replied bluntly, his contemplative gaze fixed firmly on one particular squad of X5's below.

"Quick?"

"No." Jacobs nodded.

"Good."

"How's your staff?" Lydecker asked after another moments quiet.

"Recovering. We're trying some experimental treatments on Jade to get him back on his feet and Swanson and JJ should be back on the duty roster shortly."

"And Biggs?"

"Recovering." Jacobs paused for a moment. "I want to put him in charge of Squad 6."

Lydecker grunted.

"He's trouble." That wasn't exactly a newsflash to Jacobs.

"I know. But he's good, and they respect him."

"He's too close to the situation." Jacobs snorted at that.

"He practically created this situation," Jacobs replied dryly, causing Lydecker to turn to look a the other man.

"And he still has no idea why?"

"No," Jacobs shook his head. "He's looking though."

Lydecker mulled over this for a long moment before grunting.

"Nothing but trouble," he decided, focusing his attention once more on the squad below.

"Go ahead and put him in charge," he decided after a long moment. "But the second he starts stepping out…"

"I already have a plan," Jacobs replied calmly. Lydecker grunted again, the two of them lapsing into a comfortable silence.

"Where's Charles?" Jacobs asked after a moments pause.

"Safe. We transported him to Gillette. He's gone continue his work from there. With any luck, he'll stay there indefinitely."

Jacobs snorted at that.

"Does Charles have any idea of your plans for him?"

Lydecker arched an eyebrow at Jacobs in reply.

"I didn't think so," Jacobs sighed, running a hand through his hair before turning to face his friend.

"This whole thing is one giant fuck-up in the making, Don. And if we're not careful, we're gonna end up going the same way as Shepherd."

Donald Michael Lydecker cocked his head to the side and stared, steady eyed, at his best friend and former brother-in-law.

"No," he decided, shaking his head and heading for the door. "We won't."

If Jacobs had been so lost in his own thoughts, he would have noticed the odd finality to Lydecker's words.

But his friend was distracted, which was okay.

With the places Lydecker was going, he didn't even want his best friend with him when he went.

**A/N: **The original Chapter 2 was 44 pages and, following a suggestion of an original reviewer, I shortened it into two parts. You're welcome (if you're thankful, if you're not thankful then you can just skip this part).


	4. Chapter 4

**January, 2005**

"This is Samuel. He'll be assisting you in your work today."

Kyle had his arms crossed over his chest, expression dead set as he stared stoically at the elderly man who had been introduced then dumped in their lab.

"I don't like him," he stated, eyes narrowing for a second before he turned to look at Corrine. "He's got funky mojo."

Corrine closed her eyes and took a deep breath, remind herself for the umpteenth time that Kyle, despite his annoying tendency to be a complete psychic mumbo-jumbo asshole at _the__worst_ moments was actually an intelligent, _valued_ member of her staff who was _indispensable_ to their current work.

"I apologize for Kyle," she stated simply, almost automatically as she smiled at the man, offering him her hand as she did so.

"No need," Samuel replied with his own easy smile, his eyes straying to her aide, examining him shrewdly for a moment before refocusing on Corrine. "I find his candor refreshing."

"You would probably be the only one, then," Corrine smiled before turning her attention back to the microscope in front of her.

"You've been working on the re-sequencing for X7 genetic cocktails, haven't you?" Samuel moved through the lab with ease, standing next to the video microscope she'd been using to examine the DNA strand in front of her.

"They want bat DNA in the mixture," Corrine stated, going straight into business. Samuel wasn't the first 'assistant' she'd had over the years and while she found it beneficial to be polite, it was pointless trying to make friends. Samuel was here to help fix this problem and while Corrine was sure he was a perfectly nice person the sooner he was gone, the happier she'd be. She liked order, she liked routine, and she hated problems. And the DNA strand in front of her was definitely a problem.

"We've tried nearly three hundred different species so far and not a single one has stuck. The strand keeps unraveling before a zygote can even occur."

"What other species combination have you tried?"

"See for yourself," Corrine handed him the folder, its edges worn from millions of paging throughs by both Corrine and Kyle. It contained the index of all available possible DNA combinations they'd been asked by Program directors to create.

There were days – far more numerous in the past seven weeks – that she wanted to take the folder and shove it down the throats of all the higher ups that spent their time breathing down her neck, expecting her to make rainbows out of the pisswater they handed her.

"You haven't diversified enough," Samuel noted as he flipped through the pages.

"Hey, watch it, doc," Kyle snapped defensively from the opposite side of the room. "We don't come up with the combos – we're just supposed to create them."

"What he said," Corrine agreed, turning her attention away from the screen in front of her to look over at the folder in Samuel's hands once more. "But what does diversification have to do with it?"

"The average human picks out patterns within the context of things," Samuel stated, flipping another page. "Whoever put this list together put it together by region – they picked DNA from animals who exist in similar environments."

"Adaptation," Kyle stated, showing his interest and immediately backpedaling when both Corrine and Samuel turned to look at him. "It makes sense," he continued on, defending the aides now even though he spent half the time he was in the labs calling them idiots.

"In theory," Samuel agreed readily enough. "But in practice diversification is a must. Each species genes mutate, or evolve, over time to adapt to whatever environment they exist in. Though there isn't a specific chromosome that can be targeted to combine cross-species, the chromosomal similarities have an inbreeding effect."

"They mutate," Corrine nodded her understanding, focusing her attention back on the screen, picking up on the subtle pieces of the puzzle that had clicked into place at his words.

"Redneck molecular biology," Kyle snorted, leaning back against the counter as he too studied the screen.

"Damn," Corrine muttered, feeling both elated and pissed because _damn_ it really was that simple.

"How could they not have caught this before?" Corrine murmured. X5 and X6 weren't on the same scale as X7 was supposed to be, but still she found it somewhat difficult to believe that nobody had noticed this before.

"X5 was created using DNA from different environments so they could operate across all environments," Samuel stated. "And X6 only had a few alterations from X5."

Made sense – the most sense anything had ever made.

"Fuck," Corrine swore, tugging at the end of her pony-tail as she leaned back against the counter and glanced over at Kyle. "You know what this means."

Kyle pulled a face and for once Corrine fully agreed with him. Changing anything in genetics was hard enough on your own, but when you had to go through half a dozen committees and crackpots to do so…

"Don't worry, Dr. Bailey," Samuel smiled pleasantly enough as he spoke, heading for the nearest phone line they had to the outside world, aka the people who weren't lab techs. "I'll make a call and get this settled right away."

"Settled right away?" Kyle sounded absolutely lost which was good – Corrine's mind was already playing connect the dots and she really did not like what she was seeing.

"You do that," was all she said even as she took and uneasy step back from Samuel.

Samuel was poised to dial when an ear-splitting alarm screeched through the facility, deafening anyone and everyone. It stunned Corrine straight to the ground, tripping on her own heels and banging backwards with a loud cry that was all but a whisper in the wake of the sudden influx of too-much-fucking-noise.

"What the hell – " Corrine's volume lowered as the siren suddenly went silent. " – was that?"

Samuel ignored her, frowning as he hit a number on the phone, listening for a second before hitting another number. When that didn't work either, he hung up and turned to Bailey, all vestiges of kindly old man gone as he stared at her.

"You need to listen to me carefully, Dr. Bailey – the lives of everyone here depends on it."

Corrine didn't doubt him, not even for a flippin' second even as Kyle scoffed his disbelief.

"I'm listening."

* * *

"What's the sitrep?" Kincaid asked, striding through the hastily erected base camp with purpose.

"Facilities in lockdown," one of his aides reported. "Sirens went off at approximately 1403 and silenced approximately thirty second later."

"Any communications to the inside?"

"Not yet."

_Not good._

They needed communications and they needed it now – the faster it was established, the quicker he and the rest of fucking Manticore could figure out what the hell had gotten fucked up in the Seattle facility and fix it.

"It's Shepherd," someone spoke from inside the tent, stopping Kincaid dead in his tracks as he stared at the man on the other side of the flap.

"Well I'll be damned," he muttered, before hastily adding, "Sir."

"At ease and drop the formalities, Son," Colonel Lydecker ordered in his rough rasp. "We've got a real problem we could use your help with."

"Tell me what you need."

* * *

Corrine was having a real hard time associating fact with fiction because Samuel – god, transgenics were one thing but this – Samuel was trodding into beyond science fiction territory.

"Keep this close," Samuel instructed, pulling the necklace he'd been showing her for the past three minutes from around his neck and settling it over her own. "It'll keep you safe."

"What, like with super powers or something?" Kyle inquired from where he sat on the sidelines, looking like a weird cross between freaked and nerdvana. Superhuman's were real…this was practically a dream come true for his little geekiness.

"There are others who wear it," Samuel continued on, ignoring Kyle. "They're your friends, the only people you can trust in here."

"Where are you going?" Corrine asked, letting him settle the necklace around her neck before asking her question, feeling half-frantic when he didn't immediately respond. "You can't just leave, not after telling me – "

"Quiet." Samuel's voice was even, but there was no mistaking that one word for anything but an order and Corrine was a scientist now but she was still a soldier in the United States military so she shut the hell up and listened.

Footsteps, marching footsteps too heavy to be any of the transgenics, and heading straight their way. The shit was about to hit the fucking fan.

Shepherd looked bat-shit crazy. Granted – he always looked bat-shit crazy, but today the insanity seemed to just glow like a rotten halo slung around his head.

Kyle opened his mouth to say something but a hard elbow to the gut from Corrine quickly absolved him of the desire – and the oxygen – to be his usually cocky self.

"Bitch," he managed to wheeze out, scowling when Corrine shot him a hard look, her message clear – _behave._

"Samuel," Shepherd all but purred the man's name. "Or should I say Sandeman?"

"Careful, Shepherd," Samuel replied, one eyebrow arched pointedly. "The walls have ears."

"They're inconsequential," Shepherd waved off whatever cryptic message was hidden in that comment, his entire focus on Samuel. "You're the only player that matters and you belong to me now."

"I belong to no one," Samuel replied, sounding fully arrogant and slightly offended, like Shepherd had real balls to even suggest the idea.

Crazy or not Shepherd always had a knack for figuring out when he was being insulted. His smile dropped fast and Corrine's heart beat responded to more than make up for it.

"Think what you want," Shepherd replied. "But we both know the truth now."

"Truth?" Samuel laughed at that, shaking his head as he stared at Shepherd with _pity,_of all things. "Be grateful that you know less than that."

"I know about the Conclave." That shut Samuel up. Shepherd's smile returned, scary and crazy, but it was Samuel who Corrine edged away from, carefully tugging Kyle along with her, the boy more than eager to follow as the two of them took in Samuel's merciless expression.

"You're a fool, Shepherd, to think that you could even begin to know anything about the Conclave."

"I know more than anything," Shepherd laughed this time, running his fingers along the counter top. The two guards who had entered with him cringed at the sound and Corrine took advantage of that brief to distraction to try and arm herself.

"Put it back, Miss Bailey," Shepherd spoke with deceptive calm, his gaze shifting from Samuel to her, pleasant smile on his face. "The scapel – put it back. We wouldn't want anybody to get hurt now, would we?"

"Course not," Corrine replied faintly, holding very still while one of the guards stepped forward and relieved her of the only even remotely deadly object in the room, aside from the guards guns and Shepherd's bare hands, that was.

"Good girl," Shepherd cooed his praise with a smile of delight. "I have big plans for you, Miss Bailey – big plans."

He laughed again, so happy and pleased Corrine couldn't help but feel sick by even the idea of whatever plans Shepherd might have made involving her.

"Oh, that's nice," was all she said, collapsing back onto a stool, barely noticing Kyle's hand as it was suddenly on her shoulder, helping keep her balance as the world sort of tilted to the side.

"I want a child, Sandeman," Shepherd stated. "A special child and you're going to be the one to bring him to me."

"I would never – "

"He's already here," Shepherd replied and Samuel went quiet again. Corrine was left with the impression that this meant something to him, something big, but her mind was still stuck on Shepherd's plans for her, so she wasn't really all that focused.

"Then what do you want from me?" Samuel's tone was careful and even, giving nothing away as the two men faced off.

"Give me the necklace," Shepherd stated, holding out his hand. "I know you brought it with you and I want it – now."

_Fucking __shit,_Corrine thought to herself, feeling the sudden heat of the necklace Samuel had just given her hanging heavy around her neck, carefully hidden beneath her blouse. The second Samuel said he didn't have it, Shepherd was going to go looking for whoever did. And there were only two other options.

* * *

The Colonel had all the rooms in all the Manticore's wired – twice. There were the public wires, the shit that was so obvious a monkey could spot it, and then there was the super secret stuff – so secret not even Manticore Brass knew about it. Hell, there was only one person who knew about them – two now, if you included Kincaid.

"What necklace?" Kincaid asked, leaning back in his seat as he stared up at Lydecker from his position in the corner.

Today of all days was the day Kincaid had picked to head off on an adventure to the Seattle facility. Lydecker wanted to ask Kincaid if there was a special reason he couldn't have waited even another couple of hours, but he was afraid he already knew the answer and he didn't want to have to kill the kid. He had plans for Manticore's newest Director – big ones he didn't want to have to fuck up in the name of OPSEC.

"It's irrelavent," Lydecker replied. "I'm more concerned about the child."

"Do we know who he's talking about?"

That was why he liked Kincaid – always asking the right questions. Unfortunately, he always asked the wrong ones at the same time.

"No," Lydecker replied succinctly and to the point.

"Do we know why he's looking for a special kid? Hell – he's got hundreds of them at his beck and call right now."

Kincaid sounded disgusted with the whole affair which was on par with how Lydecker was feeling. Shepherd had been a hostage-crisis waiting to happen – he'd been crazy when he'd gone into the service, crazy when he'd been discharged, and crazy when he'd been redeployed straight into being Manticore's pain in the ass. Hell, Lydecker usually reserved that spot for Martinez, who wasn't so much crazy as sadistic.

But Martinez wanted monsters and Shepherd just wanted power – Manticore could forgive Martinez's training methodologies but they had a short fuse when it came to power plays.

"I don't know," Lydecker replied, expression tight as he lied. Oh, he knew what Shepherd was after. He also knew Samuel wasn't going to give it to him. Shepherd was too crazy to see the resolve in the older man. Samuel had been in far worse situations, with far greater threats hanging over his head, and he'd never so much as flinched.

Shepherd was going to lose this one. It was Lydecker's job to make Shepherd was all Manticore lost.

* * *

"You don't need the necklace," Samuel replied, continuing on even as Shepherd's face curled up into a snarl. "He doesn't know what it means."

That drew Shepherd up short. "You haven't told him?"

"He has no idea," Samuel confirmed.

"Which is on par with the rest of us," Kyle muttered under his breath, poking Corrine in the side to get her attention. "Do you understand anything they're talking about?"

"Do I look like I speak crazy?" Corrine replied, her temper reaching the end of it's fuse with all the dramatic ups and downs her normally placid heartbeat had taken in the past five minutes. Goddamn – there was a reason she'd opted for a nice, cushy lab job as opposed to combat medicine. Her nerves were shot.

"This is wonderful, then," Shepherd clapped his hands, all smiles and sunshine once more as he turned back towards the door, thankfully leaving.

"Watch them," he ordered the guards cheerfully. "If any of them try anything, shoot them. Preferably in the knee caps."

"Yes, Sir," the two guards chorused, fingers hovering over the triggers of the semi-automatics as they shot the three of them their most intimidating glares.

"Well, that went well," Kyle was the first to break the silence after Shepherd left, sliding off the counter under the watchful eye of the guards and heading for one of the side freezers. "I'm hungry. Lunch, anyone?"

* * *

The call had been made and the orders had come down from above – fuck OPSEC, Manticore wanted Sandeman cleared and they wanted him cleared now.

"I can have him out in twenty," Kincaid offered, following as Lydecker headed for the main coms.

"Too late for that," Lydecker replied. "We've already got men inside."

"Who?" Kincaid asked.

"Jacobs," Lydecker answered in clipped tones.

"The Major?" Kincaid's eyebrows arched in surprise. "How the fuck –"

"He knew," Lydecker bit out. "Jacobs fucking knew this was going to happen and he already had plans in place."

"If he fucking knew then why didn't he goddamn tell somebody?" Lydecker paused to turn and look at Kincaid.

"He did."

* * *

"You wouldn't happen to know what his plans are for me, would you?" It was a shot in the dark, but Corrine was feeling real uneasy and it was only getting worse with every passing second rescue didn't come.

"You don't have to worry about that," Samuel assured her, once more the picture of benevolence and peace as he watched Kyle eat his sandwich. "He won't have a chance to execute it."

"Execute," Corrine shook her head as her stomach dipped. "Interesting choice of words."

"Relax," Samuel focused his attention on her, reaching out to lay a hand on her arm. "It's going to be alright."

Corrine normally liked taking orders – there was a chain of command to be followed, a sequential order to things that appealed to her organized scientific brain. And even though Samuel had this eerie aura of calm and authority, Corrine wasn't about to listen to a guy who believed in weird hoodoo like genetically superior natural human beings and the almighty powers of a necklace made of rock.

"Okay," was all she said, earning her a snort from Kyle and a tight smile from Samuel. What-fucking-ever – for the next ten minutes or so, Corrine was gonna just focus on enjoying the slightly stale lab air cause after that, chances were pretty good she'd be dead and deprived.

* * *

_{We __have __a __Priority __Alpha __personnel __on __site}_The radio operator repeated what Lydecker had told him, contacting Ezekial Knight and his two teammates to be rerouted to the labs.

_{Copy __that.__You __want __me __to __conduct __a s__natch __and __grab?}_ Was Ezekial's rough reply. Lydecker's lips twitched involuntarily at the thought – there was a reason the Committee hadn't tried that with Samuel before. Primarily because the man was almost solely responsible for all of their genetic successes so far and partially because, initially, when they'd tried, he'd killed every man sent after him.

Sandeman had been a civilian, looking to create something special. He'd attracted the attention of the military with his initial successes and only funding had moved him from the private sector into military special ops.

_{Negative,__Charlie.__Observe __and __secure.__Understood?}_ The radio operator's voice was calm despite the fact that Lydecker was hovering at his shoulder, carefully monitoring every word.

_Solid __kid,_Lydecker thought, giving the kid an encouraging squeeze on his shoulder and nearly smiling as the kid paused in what he was doing to give Lydecker a strange look before refocusing on the coms.

_{Understood.}_ Came Ezekial's staticy voice after a moments pause. The radio operator nodded once, more to himself than anybody.

_{Good. Here are your stats…}_

* * *

Kincaid hovered in the background, taking in everything with a careful eye as he struggled with the urge to grit his teeth in frustration. He'd come to Seattle specifically today to visit with the very man who was going to be disappearing the second Shepherd's little take-over was hostilely ended.

He knew what it was like to have answers right at your fingertips only to have them slip away in the space of a single breath, but there was really no way to easily compartmentalize the feelings. He was mad, plain and simple, and if Shepherd's death warrant hadn't already been signed, he would have killed the bastard himself. With his bare fucking hands, goddamnit.

* * *

Corrine wanted alcohol, or drugs, or a magical time machine that could take her back to this morning when she woke up with the urge to stay home and for once in her life do the smart thing and _listen __to __it._

"You don't look so good," was Kyle's helpful contribution. Corrine shot him a slitty-eyed gaze. Her assistant was far too chipper about this whole hostile take-over. She'd be suspicious about his involvement, but Kyle wasn't really a team player and he knew she was the only scientist on sight who wouldn't slip something toxic and potentially embarrassing into his food. There was a reason he stowed his lunch in the lab and not the employee lounge.

"I have to go to the bathroom," she hazarded on the off chance that one or both of the guards had become completely dumb in the last ten minutes.

"There's a sink over there," the one of the left jerked his head towards the lab sinks, expression completely unsympathetic.

"We won't look, promise," the one of the right grinned and for some strange reason Corrine didn't believe him even a little bit.

"Right, then," she decided. "Guess I'll just hold it."

* * *

Jacobs was in position, Ezekial had moved into the med-bay next to the lab, and some soldier named Creed had liberated a bunch of Trainer's trapped in a Psy-Ops cell and as a bonus, killed a bunch of disloyal people and captured Shepherd.

The end was in sight, but Lydecker wasn't going to relax until Samuel was somewhere safe, off-site and away from curious eyes.

"We're moving in," he informed Kincaid tersely, strapping a gun to his thigh before letting the M16 carbine he had slung over his chest fall easily into his waiting hands.

"I'm coming with," Kincaid started, but Lydecker was already shaking his head.

"You stay and coordinate from here. I want to know the second Samuel is safe, understood?"

A dozen different emotions flashed across Kincaid's face, but it was the last one that held Lydecker's attention – frustration, which was exactly the reason Kincaid was staying behind. Lydecker had faith in the kid, but greater men than he had been killed for their curiosity. Someday Kincaid would understand it was all for the best.

"Understood, Sir," Kincaid saluted, waiting for Lydecker to return the gesture before dropping it and turning to head back inside, pausing to turn around once, expression once more unreadable. "Good luck."

"Thank you," was all Lydecker said in reply, motioning for his men to rally and follow as he headed for the nearby hummers.

* * *

"Time's up," Lefty's statement had Corrine jerking from her thoughts to blink at him in surprise.

"What are you talking about?" She asked, standing up and placing herself between the men and Kyle, some inborn instinct warning her that something bad was about to happen.

"Get out of the way, Bailey," Righty ordered, lifting his gun to point it in Kyle's general direction.

"Really, what are you doing?" Corrine's voice rose slightly in pitch as Kyle's hand was suddenly on her shoulder again and as much as she liked to think he was just being supportive, she was fairly certain he was trying to do something stupid, like push her out of the way so Tweedle Asshole and Tweedle Fuckhead could shoot him.

"Out of the way, Bailey," Lefty stated, raising the gun. "We have orders to transfer the two of you – the kid is surplus baggage. He goes."

"So you shoot him?" Corrine was running the emotional gauntlet again – from afraid to pissed to scared to enraged. God, if Lefty would just wait a second, she'd fucking throw the fifty pound, custom ordered-took-fucking-forever-to-requisite microscope at his sorry skull.

"We're not moving," Samuel interrupted Corrine's mental plotting, drawing half her attention his way, the only half focused on keeping the suddenly-dumb Kyle located behind her, for all the good it did. Shepherd had stated it was okay to shoot her in the kneecaps if she didn't cooperate and oh, look – not cooperating.

"Think again, old man," Righty lowered his weapon, obviously aiming for kneecaps as ordered, and that was when all hell broke loose.

There was gunfire, which Corrine wisely tried to duck, pulling Kyle down and rolling on top of him even as he struggled to reverse the situation, his male ego insisting he at least try. In the corner of her eye she caught two blurs of movement, one quickly racing past her field of vision, the only coming to a screeching halt.

She couldn't process what she was seeing, not at first. Dead little eyes staring at her from a child's face with the smell of blood filling the air. Dimly she recognized that the gunfire had stopped and Kyle was pushing her off of him, but it was all foggy – surreal.

"Are you okay?" Somebody asked, kneeling in front of her, blocking her view of the dead kid, and she wanted to laugh and punch him at the same time because no, she wasn't okay. She'd been a hostage for fuck knows how long, some cuckoo with a necklace had told her an apocalypse story, some other nutjob had 'plans' for her, and there was a dead kid on the floor of her lab.

"Great," she declared, taking a deep breath and letting it out before accepting the hand he'd offered and letting him pull her to her feet. "Never been better."

He let out a bark of laughter that distracted her attention to his face. He smiled at her but it was grim and without humor.

"You and me both, lady," he shook his head in disbelief, smiling more to himself than her. "You and me both."

* * *

_{Priority __Alpha __is __on __his __way __out}_

"Good," Kincaid stated even as he struggled with the urge to punch something. Years of effort, opportunity gone in an instant – _God._

"I'm heading in," he stated, clapping the radioman on the shoulder as he headed for the lone remaining hummer, his men already waiting. "You know what to do."

"Yes, Sir," came the distracted reply, the radioman already fully immersed in his job.

"No chance, then?" Sergeant First Class Will Skarsten asked as he climbed into the hummer next to Kincaid.

"He's gone," Kincaid replied tightly, confirming his SIC's answer. Skar didn't disappoint him with his reply – concise, well-worded, and a perfect summation of everything he'd been feeling since he'd been roadblocked and diverted all those hours ago.

"_Fuck_."

**A/N:** Right. So Chapter 4 of Bohica…foreshadowing in a major way. I'm not kidding when I say I have this whole world inside my head and everything happens for a reason.

Kincaid, for those wondering _Huh?_ is the Director for the Las Vegas facility. Since Las Vegas, Syracuse, and Atlanta are all original character based, I'm establishing them heavily in Toy Soldiers and Bohica so you become familiar for them and don't go into their stories completely blind.

TS is on temporary hold while I catch the other stories up. I'm planning on finishing the first chapters of Obsolete (Atlanta) and Burn & Bleed (Las Vegas) this week, so hopefully those stories will be up soon.


End file.
